fic: heroes (somnambulist) Parts I & II - written for heroes_bigboom
Author Name: acinogan
Title: Somnambulist
Word Count: 17,056 split between two posts
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Elle, Sylar, Nathan, Bennet, Angela, Matt, Mohinder, minor OFC; Elle/Sylar; Elle/Peter
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: General spoilers for all of Season Three/Volumes 3 & 4. Picks up after end of Volume 4.
Summary: A major cover-up is revealed, and Peter takes it upon himself to deal with the aftermath directly.
A/N: Beta'd by the lovely superkappa, who also gets mad props for holding my hand through writing the end, and based on a very small prompt from faded_facade that took on a life of its own.
Accompanying Artwork: by paperflowered - much thanks, go check out the pretty!
~(on to Parts III & IV)~
* * *
Prologue
* * *
He paused with his hand raised in mid-air, the last chance to change his mind before he knocked on the door. After that, there was no going back. If he was going to back out, he had to do it now. If he was ready to take that leap, he needed to go ahead and jump, stop standing on the edge, caught in between two options: back up and keep dreaming or fly.
He knew what he had to do. His knuckles cracked a sharp notice on the door, his hand hovered for a beat before floating downward, and he was fine for a second. Then...tailspin.
What was he going to say when the door opened - "Sorry about how I left things?" "Glad you're doing all right?" "Can I come in?" He very possibly would get the door slammed in his face, assuming she even opened it at all.
Tumblers turned in deadbolts and the door cracked enough for him to see a length of chain across a slice of blonde hair and one blue eye that widened when she saw who it was.
"Can I come in?" he asked, and the door closed wordlessly but did not slam. The chain slid aside, and she opened the door wide for him, standing far to the side to allow him plenty of space to enter.
"I guess you're probably surprised to see me." He stated the obvious, not sure how much he should say about anything that had gone on, wanting to avoid tripping himself up. He knew more than just the highlights, but the devil was in the details.
"That's kind of an understatement, wouldn't you say?" She sneered at him as she spat out the words while her hand spat out an angry bolt that connected with the exposed skin on his hand.
He had his work cut out for him.
* * *
Part I
* * *
The only warmth on the beach was from the pyre.
Peter, Nathan, and their mother were the only ones still watching him burn, needing to be sure he was disintegrated, to be certain Sylar was gone.
Nathan walked over to stand beside him, and after a few minutes, Angela approached them, somewhat tentatively for her.
"We can go now, nothing else is going to happen. Rather gruesome to continue watching." She turned her back on the flames and started toward the small grouping of parked cars that had gathered at the edge of the beach earlier.
"You can go on home, Ma," Nathan told her retreating back. "I kind of feel like we should keep watching."
There was something strange going on with him, Peter thought. Maybe because he'd finally admitted to some of his cronies that he had an ability.
Because 'one of them' had changed, out loud, to 'one of us.' Nathan had always been the reluctant one when it came to abilities. Peter wondered if Nathan would start to embrace his openly now, or go back to being his old self in the harsh light of day.
"Sure you want to hang around?" he asked Nathan. "It is sort of gruesome."
Nathan crooked an elbow around his neck. "You want to stay, right?" Peter nodded. "I'll stay with you, then."
* * *
Mohinder took another swig from his pint glass. "There are nearly seven billion people on this planet, each one unique. What are the chances of that, and why?"
"I see we've moved on to the philosophical portion of the evening." Peter joined Matt and Mohinder at a small table in the nearly empty bar, and Matt looked relieved.
"I am glad you are finally here," Matt greeted him as he stood. Mohinder appeared momentarily lost in thought.
"Sorry. It took longer than we thought. Is he...okay?"
"Just be happy you can't read thoughts anymore, and that's all I'm going to say about that. I'll get you a drink; what do you want?"
"Whatever's on tap," Peter told Matt and took a seat across from Mohinder, who seemed to finally notice him.
"Is it simply biology, physiology, that determines this diversity? A collection of thoughts, memories, experiences that carve out our own special place? Or is it something more than this? Perhaps there's a master plan that drives the randomness of creation, something unknowable that dwells in the soul and presents each one of us with a unique set of challenges that will help us discover who we really are."
"I wish I could still believe that, Mohinder," Peter said softly when Mohinder took a brief pause to drink the last swallow of beer in his glass. Peter was content to sit and listen to Mohinder's voiced thoughts, slightly less eloquent than they would have been without the alcohol.
"We are all connected, joined together by an invisible thread, infinite in its potential and fragile in its design. Yet while connected, we are also merely individuals, empty vessels to be filled with infinite possibilities. An assortment of thoughts, beliefs. A collection of disjointed memories and experiences. Can I be me without these?"
Matt rejoined them, managing to carry three full pints by himself.
"Can you be you?" Mohinder asked Matt, looking up at him as Matt distributed the glasses.
He rolled his eyes at Peter as he sat down. "He's talking about the invisible thread connecting us all again, isn't he?"
Peter nodded. "I actually think it's kind of interesting," he admitted.
"Why can't we just talk about sports like normal guys?" Matt asked, beleaguered, and took a long drink from his beer.
"And if this invisible thread that holds us together were to sever, to cease, what then? What would become of billions of lone, disconnected souls?" Mohinder continued to quietly wax poetic, mostly oblivious to the other two men.
"Do you really need to ask?" Peter retorted to Matt.
"Therein lies the great quest of our lives: to find, to connect, to hold on. For when our hearts are pure and our thoughts in line, we are all truly one, capable of repairing our fragile world and creating a universe of infinite possibilities."
Peter waited a few seconds to make sure Mohinder was between thoughts, then raised his glass.
"To infinite possibilities."
Matt echoed him, and, after noticing his next full pint glass had appeared in front of him, refilled, so did Mohinder.
* * *
"I'm actually surprised you haven't come looking for me," he told Elle, trying to convey the arrogance implicit in the words of the statement.
"Why in the hell would I do that? The last time I saw you, you sliced my head open." Even though her voice carried a strong note of contempt, he was past the door, and he'd been sure that would be the hard part. Getting in the door had to count for something.
"The last time I sliced your head open, you shocked me hard enough to get me captured. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't fight back for once?" He stayed near the door, just as much to block her only means of escape as to be able to make a quick getaway himself if he needed to.
"That's your excuse? You thought I would fight you?" She took a deep breath and shook her head as if she needed to settle the idea into her brain.
"It's not an excuse," he maintained.
"We were stranded on a deserted beach," she reminded him. "I just wanted to get back to civilization." Tingle. That power continued to come in handy.
"You're lying." He felt confident about confronting her on that point, even if it might backfire and put her on the defensive more than she already was.
"Really. Well, what's the truth, then, if you know so much about me?" She stood in the middle of the living room of her small apartment, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed, and he was reminded of her occasional sudden shifts into petulance from his days as a Company 'guest.'
"You were playing me just like everyone else was," he accused her, and continued as her eyes narrowed but she remained quiet. "I don't know who was pulling your strings, Arthur, or Angela, or someone else, but there's no way you were working on your own."
"I was working with you, you jerk! And I wasn't weak enough for somebody to manipulate me until you left me for dead on a beach." She paused long enough to give him an overly sweet smile. "But obviously you didn't follow through on that really well."
"Obviously." Elle was missing part of the big picture, it appeared. She had yet to make any mention of being set on fire.
"So, what, did you come here to finish the job?" She didn't look overly concerned for her safety; in fact, she turned her back on him and went into the kitchen of the open-layout common area of the apartment and busied herself filling a kettle with water from the tap.
"What if I am? Are you going to make me a cup of tea first?"
"Just trying to be a good hostess." She placed the kettle on a burner and turned it on, then turned back around to face him. "Have a seat?" She indicated a bar stool at the small island to her left.
"Only if you promise to stop at one story instead of trying for all one thousand and one."
"I'm not stalling. I just want the chance to rub it in your face how badly you messed up before you try it again."
According to his power, she was not lying.
* * *
She did not want to wake up. Her head was pounding and she was cold. She was in bed; where was the blanket?
She finally made herself open her eyes, slowly at first, so the industrial brightness of the room wouldn't aggravate her headache, then they snapped open wide when she realized who was in the room with her.
Bennet. She bolted upright in the bed and lifted a hand, preparing to defend herself, but her hand remained empty. Chagrined, she looked over her shoulder, knowing already what she would see: the Haitian, standing there damping her power like a big, silent, power-damping tree, or a statue. Damn it.
"Feeling better?" Bennet asked her, and she turned around to face him with a frown.
"Better than what? Being powerless again, trapped...where are we? Back at the Company? Well, that makes me feel fan-flipping-tastic, Noah." There was something she wasn't getting. She looked down at the Company-issue scrubs she wore. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was--
"There it is," Bennet said cheerfully, noticing the change that must have showed on her face when the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Sylar, on the beach, he'd...
"What, do you want me to thank you or something?" She felt her forehead for the bandage that would certainly be there, but her fingers met only smooth skin. "All right, how long have I been here? My head's all healed, did you keep me knocked out for a while?"
"It's only been a day. And I gave you some of Claire's blood; that's why you healed, after..."
"After Sylar tried to slice my head open again? God, I am an idiot."
"I hate to say 'I told you so,' but--"
"Then don't say it. Just get me some decent clothes, and get me the hell out of here."
"That's not how this works, Elle. You stay here until I need you, then you do what I want."
"I don't think so."
"You shot my daughter."
"So? She's indestructible. And you shot me back, so aren't we even? Oh, hey." She remembered the bullet wound on her thigh, and when she pulled up the leg of her scrubs pants, all that was there was her normal uninjured leg. "Cool."
"I had to get Claire's blood away from the hospital anyway, so they wouldn't be able to take too close of a look at it, and imagine my surprise when I ran into you on a little stroll along the beach, just a few blocks down from the house. I wanted to leave you there, but Angela convinced me to bring you in. So I injected you with Claire's blood, and we flew here in the Company's private jet. I know how much you hate to fly, so I sedated you, too. That's why you're just now waking up." Bennet had found her and saved her. He didn't do it out of any kindness toward her, that was for sure. Maybe to get back at Sylar somehow, but, whatever his reason was, she was stuck here for who knew how long, basically at his mercy. Fantastic.
"So what do you want from me, exactly?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"Nothing just yet. You recuperate, and I'll be in touch," Bennet said with one of those creepy smiles of his and left her alone in the room with the Haitian.
"Got a deck of cards?" she asked him after heaving a deep, resigned sigh.
* * *
"Not even a scar. Bet you didn't see that coming," she said as she proudly showed off her forehead, happy to have bested her circumstances, even if it wasn't through her own actions. He smiled at her, a bit condescendingly. Bennet had left out one very important detail, all right. He would just continue to leave the burned-up body part out, too. It wouldn't do either of them any good to bring that up if she wasn't already aware of it.
"You got me," he admitted. She looked like she wanted to shock him but didn't want to mess up her apartment. Maybe coming to her on her own turf had been the right call after all. "So, what now? Tea, then a fight to the death? Very civilized of you, considering there's only one possible outcome, and it's not in your favor." He was teasing her, trying to keep her on edge. He wanted her to want to play nice with him, but it couldn't be too easy or she'd never react to him the way he needed her to.
"Aren't you curious about how I got out of the Company? Don't you want to know if Bennet's using me as bait for you, waiting in my bedroom while I ply you with some tasty tranq-laced tea?" He smiled inwardly at her highly improbable scenario.
"I'm pretty sure I know how you got out of the Company. Some psycho Level 5 escapee blew the place up, right?"
"Sort of. I think that's what happened, anyway." No tingle, she really did think that's how Primatech had been destroyed.
"And since your so-called 'escape' actually involved running really fast while Bennet was busy looking the other way at the burning building, I'm guessing I don't need to be worried about the prospect of you trying to tranquilize me and turning me over to him."
"Who said I would turn you over? I might just be tempted to keep you for myself, have all sorts of fun with you while you're unconscious." She smiled at him. The first sincere expression on her face since he'd walked through the door, and it involved torturing his helpless body. Not that he expected anything else from her.
The kettle whistled, and she poured the boiling water over the tea bags, tags dangling from strings hanging over the lips of two mugs. She studied him intently when she turned back to him, her eyes perusing him at length while the tea was steeping.
"I don't think you're here to kill me," she finally said.
"Really? Third time's the charm," he suggested, and she laughed softly.
"Really. If you'd come here to kill me, you would have told me you were going to do it so you could enjoy watching me squirm, waiting, wondering when it was finally going to happen." She turned to the counter to finish preparing the tea. "You like it when they're afraid of you." Her back to him again, proving to him she wasn't afraid.
"Let's say you're right."
"I am."
"Okay, fine, you are. What do you think I'm here for, then?" She turned and brought the mugs to the island and set them down, then perched on the stool opposite his.
"Oh, come on. It's a special day today. Unfortunately, I'm not seeing any painstakingly wrapped presents or even any jewelry box-sized lumps in your pockets..."
"Your birthday." Now he remembered.
"It's okay, I'd like to forget it, too." She cocked her head to one side while she studied his face yet again. "There's something different about you."
"No, there's not. Don't change the subject."
"There is. I'm not sure what, but definitely something."
"I'm parting my hair to the other side. What do you want for your birthday?"
"What? No, it's not your hair. Well, that is a little different, but that's not what I'm talking about."
"Do you want jewelry?"
"Hmph. I can't figure it out." She relaxed back onto her bar stool, apparently giving up for the moment. "For God's sake, nothing in gold." While she took a small sip of the hot tea, she looked at him through lowered lashes above the rim of the mug, eyes twinkling. Her second sincere facial expression.
* * *
"I wasn't sure what to get you," Nathan prefaced as he handed Peter the small square box wrapped in beige paper and thin gold ribbon.
"You know I don't care about stuff like that," he replied as he took the birthday gift from Nathan. "Besides, I'm sure Mom got me something expensive and impractical, so this is like a bonus."
"It's practical, at least." Nathan watched Peter's face as he opened the box, revealing a watch bearing a name that Peter recognized as very high-end. He lifted it out of the box to take a closer look, all polished metal and smooth crystal face, while Nathan began pointing out its features. "Waterproof, shockproof, and it won't lose a second for years, at least. You can wear it to work; it's tougher than it looks."
"Thanks, Nathan," Peter told him, genuinely grateful. It was obvious that Nathan had actually chosen this present himself for once instead of sending Heidi like he used to, or an assistant, or worst of all, their mother, to pick something out for him at the last minute. "I really like it. I'll wear it all the time." He put it on, cold against his skin at first, but warming quickly.
"Happy birthday, Peter."
* * *
"Thanks for the tea."
"Sure."
"Happy birthday."
"Thanks."
"Next time, I'll bring your present."
"Okay." She closed the apartment door, and from the hallway he could hear the chain slide back into place, the deadbolts locking him back out. But he knew he could get back in anytime he wanted.
He waited until he was in his car to make the phone call.
"How did it go?" Bennet asked him.
"Fine. You were right, after a few minutes, she actually seemed happy to see me."
"To see him, you mean, right, Peter?" Noah said pointedly.
"Yeah, you know what I mean. It's still a little confusing sometimes." He looked in the rear view mirror at the face shifting from Sylar's back to his own. "She doesn't remember him burning her. You said you didn't mind-wipe her, and I didn't fill her in, but she doesn't remember that."
"Technically, she was dead already when that happened."
"Well, she won't hear it from me."
"Just stick to the plan. When does she expect you back?"
"Soon, I think. Oh, and you sent me here on her birthday?"
"Right, I meant to tell you." Tingle. "She likes platinum."
* * *
"Well, I hate to break up the party, but I've got an early day tomorrow." Nathan stood up from the couch in the living room of their mother's Georgetown townhome, where they had gathered to celebrate Peter's birthday. Angela and Peter both got up to hug Nathan before he left, and when he was gone, Angela focused her attention on Peter.
"That's a very nice watch your brother gave you," she commented, examining his gift from Nathan.
"Yeah, he seemed real excited about it. I think he even picked it out all by himself."
"I didn't help him," Angela admitted.
There was an insistent knock at the door.
"Nathan probably left his keys," Peter quipped, going to answer the door, but when he opened it, Noah Bennet was on the other side.
"Peter. Good to see you." Peter moved aside to let Noah enter. "Is your mother around?"
"Noah, what are you doing all the way over here at this time of night?" Between his mother's false casual tone of voice and Noah's appearance timed conveniently right after Nathan's departure, it was obvious to Peter something was going on. He took his cue.
"I'll just clear the dishes from dessert into the kitchen, there, and leave you two alone." He echoed Angela's tone as he gathered up the plates and forks littered with birthday cake crumbs and cleared them into the kitchen sink. Before he turned the water on, he heard Noah say, "Guess who just got her very own apartment here in D. C.?" The noise of the running water covered Angela's reply and the next part of the conversation.
When he turned the water off, he heard Angela saying in disbelief "--gave Peter a watch for his birthday. A watch!"
"Angela, we'll just call Parkman and get him to come for another visit," was Noah's hushed reply. Parkman? Peter thought. What did they want Matt here for?
"I don't know how many times I can do this, Noah." His mother's voice was choked, pained. He couldn't stay in the kitchen and eavesdrop any more.
"What's wrong?" he asked when he re-entered the living room. His mother quickly changed her facial expression to the neutral mask he had seen frequently in his formative years, and Noah was as unreadable as he'd ever been.
"Elle Bishop is here in D. C.," Angela explained.
"What does that have to do with Nathan or Matt?" he asked, knowing his mother was feeding him a crumb of truth in the hopes he would be satisfied.
"We're just concerned that she'll blame your brother for what happened to Sylar, and do something to try to hurt him," his mother continued. Peter felt something strange, a sinking in his stomach, almost like a growl of hunger, but softer, more like a tingle.
"That's not...that's not right," he said, certain she had lied.
"What's not right, darling?" Angela took a couple of steps toward him, concern replacing the neutrality. Noah hung back and watched with narrowed eyes.
"You're lying. There's something else going on."
"Don't be ridiculous, Peter, why would I lie about something that concerns your brother's safety?"
"I don't know, Mom, why don't I go ask Nathan about it? See if he's told his staff to be on the lookout for Elle?"
"It's more complicated than that." His mother gave him her stock answer for 'I don't want to explain myself; just do as I tell you.'
"Then simplify it for me. Sylar and Elle couldn't have been all that close. She wasn't around at all after the eclipse; she wasn't anywhere that he was during all the stuff that happened right before Nathan and I--"
"Because I had her at Primatech right after the eclipse," Noah cut in. "She escaped when Sylar blew up the building, and I didn't know what happened to either of them until Sylar came to D. C. and started working with Danko." Peter believed him, but there was still something else.
"What about Matt? Why does he need to be here?"
"If Elle tries to get near Nathan, Matt would know before any of us, and he'd be able to influence Elle's thoughts, even make her think Nathan's not there at all when he's right in front of her nose," Angela explained.
Technically, that might be true, but if it would be so easy for Matt to avert whatever disaster they thought Elle was going to try to cause, why was the process so unbearable for Angela?
"And that's all it is?" he asked both of them, and they nodded.
"That's all, Peter," Angela reiterated. Tingle.
He let it drop, and then, the next morning, when he approached Angela after shifting into Noah's semblance, he discovered what they'd been hiding about Nathan.
He was surprised at how easily he'd fooled his mother.
Once the shock wore off over the sheer gall of their scheme, the enormity of what they'd done started to sink in. Nathan, the real Nathan, was gone. They had replaced his dead brother with a despised serial killer, and were helping him rise up in the ranks of the U. S. government. They weren't worried about Elle getting to Nathan, they were worried about Elle getting through to Sylar. That was why they needed Matt; to control his thoughts, not Elle's.
Peter's duplicity was discovered quickly, during the next of the multiple daily phone calls from Angela to Noah or vice-versa. Angela was furious with Peter at first, but she softened as Peter pressed them for details over dinner that night. Noah seemed excited, reinvigorated, and pitched his new idea to Angela and Peter, this way he'd thought of to quietly occupy Elle and keep her away from the new Nathan with no one outside the three of them and Parkman ever knowing the reality of the situation.
The more his mother and Noah revealed, the more Peter realized they were all in this up to their necks, and the charade must continue at all costs. He reluctantly agreed to Noah's new plan, and every minute after that, he felt like more of a traitor to Nathan for essentially helping to protect his brother's killer.
* * *
Part II
* * *
After three months of sporadic visits, a sort of non-routine had developed. He would stop by on different days of the week, always unannounced, at different times of the day, never the same twice in a row. He would drop off a gift (platinum pendant on a silver chain for her belated birthday) or a sugary dessert (the baklava was a big hit; so was the gas-station cotton candy) and stay for twenty minutes or half an hour, making small talk and occasionally assigning blame for past perceived wrongs.
One day, he was disappointed to find her not at home when he'd brought her a really great gift. He looped the handle of the bag over the doorknob and looked in his jacket pocket for a piece of paper to write on and came up with a receipt from his earlier gasoline purchase and the pen he carried all the time. He'd gotten about halfway through writing the short note against the door when Elle came walking toward him down the apartment building hallway.
He looked up at her and smiled. She gave him a small smile in return.
"I thought you were a lefty," she commented.
"Lefty? Oh, you mean...I'm both," he covered, and she seemed to accept the lie, shaking her head and laughing softly at him as he took her grocery bags from her and moved so she could unlock the door. She lifted his latest gift off of the doorknob and let them both in, indicating that he should put the groceries on the island.
"What is it this time?" she asked eagerly.
"Open it and see," he told her, unable to stop the proud smile. He had outdone himself this time, and he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when--
Elle's squeal interrupted his thought process.
"So you like it?" he asked, laughing. He'd scouted a lot of smaller thrift and secondhand shops before picking out the retro-style cuckoo clock he instinctively knew she would be delighted by.
"It's perfect! I love it!" She launched herself at him to give him a grateful hug, and for just a second he panicked, wondering if the entire charade would fall apart the instant they had more contact than her laying a casual hand on his forearm, or an accidental touch while brushing past one another in the small kitchen, cleaning up after tea. Then her arms slid around his waist, and the world didn't end; she still looked at him with the same eyes. Even better, the slight reticence that had normally been there over the past three months was gone, leaving her eyes more open, more welcoming.
He pulled her closer, hugging her in return. He wanted to keep that new openness in her eyes. She looked happier that way, and that was what he was supposed to be doing: keeping her happy so she wouldn't cause any trouble for anyone in his family. So far, it had been easy. He impulsively bent his head down to plant a kiss on her temple near her hairline.
She pulled back from him, giving him a questioning look, and busied herself putting away the groceries. Her eyes were back to normal.
"Bring a hammer and a nail next time; you're going to have to put that up for me."
* * *
"Dinner was good, Ma," Nathan said as he relaxed back into his dining chair, drowsily full after the huge meal Angela had organized for Nathan to introduce his new girlfriend, Darcy, to them.
"Thank you, dear," Angela replied. Peter hadn't been able to eat very much food; he'd been too busy watching his mother out of the corner of his eye and being amazed at how easily she seemed to lie. Four months later and he still had trouble lying to Elle so blatantly, even if he did only see her once or twice a week. He did not know how his mother, and for that matter, Noah, did it.
"So, Peter, are you seeing anyone special?" Darcy asked innocently, trying to make conversation. She was blonde (shocker) and pretty, and Peter really couldn't tell if she knew about their abilities or not, so he left out the part about all the women he dated ending up dead or lost in time, settling for "no one special right now." Nathan chose that moment to needle him a little.
"Peter's too busy saving the world to have a girlfriend, right, Pete?" Sometimes, for just a few seconds, he forgot there was anything different at all.
"I work weird hours."
"As a paramedic, right?"
"Right."
"Well, I think it's noble."
"I'm very proud of both of my boys," Angela interjected, getting up from her chair and moving behind Peter, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Peter, will you help me clear the table and serve dessert and coffee?" He stood and followed his mother into the kitchen, happy to get away from Darcy and Nathan for a few minutes so he could relax a bit. Deceiving Nathan (or Sylar, actually) was draining; being around Elle never took it out of him like this, as much as he hated the deception.
As they finished the tiramisu, Angela remarked casually, "We should appreciate these times we all have together; this time next year we'll be too busy with the caucuses to sit down and have dinner together."
If that had really been Nathan, Peter would have been fine. But it wasn't, and suddenly he couldn't stay there and play along any more. If he didn't leave his mother's house, he would ruin the whole plan. He got up and made a lame excuse about forgetting he'd picked up an extra shift that night, then he hurried out the front door, leaving the others puzzled.
His hand was on his phone as soon as he cleared the front stoop, wanting to dial Elle's number, but skipping over it in favor of Matt, who was in D. C. for the Nathan refresher course they'd needed him to do earlier that day. At least Matt knew what Peter was doing and would understand why he was so frustrated. Peter hated that Matt had been complicit in keeping the secret of Nathan's death with his mother and Noah, but he was the only other person in the world Peter felt like he could be himself around who didn't have an ulterior motive or a plan for him, and tonight he needed to blow off some steam.
* * *
"I'm just really sick of having to hear my mom talk about putting him in the White House. It's bad enough already as it is." Peter took a large swallow to finish his third beer of the hour that he'd spent sitting at the bar with Matt.
"Yeah, that's not the smartest thing I've ever done, letting your mom and Bennet railroad me into doing that. Now I'm stuck with it for God knows how long," Matt commiserated.
"What happens if your thing wears off, the powers-memory-thing you did?" Peter asked. Any time he tried to ask his mother about the possibility, she just told him it wouldn't happen and changed the subject.
"I don't really know. It's not like I've ever done this before. I guess he could remember things from Sylar's past, but if that happened, hopefully he would just think it was a dream he had, or a hallucination or something."
"And we just keep using you to reboot his mind and me to keep Elle occupied and away from him and hope no one finds out what we're doing, especially him? What a shitty plan." Peter's phone vibrated in his pocket. "Speak of the devil," he said when he saw who was calling.
"Which one?" Matt asked sardonically.
"Noah Bennet," Peter spat out into his phone to serve as a greeting. Matt rolled his eyes and took a drink of his beer. "What can I do for you tonight?"
"Are you -- drunk?"
"Working on it."
"Well, stop. I need you to get over to Elle's right away. Take a cab."
"What for?"
"Just do it, please, Peter."
"Is she okay? What's going on?"
"She's okay, for now. Get going." Noah disconnected the call, leaving Peter with a surge of concern for Elle. He called Noah's number, but it went straight to voice mail. He called Elle's number: voice mail. He exhaled harshly and pulled out his wallet, leaving a twenty on the bar to cover his share of the tab.
"I've got to go," he told Matt.
"Wow, you're the only one who jumps faster than I do when Bennet calls," Matt ribbed him as he walked toward the exit.
* * *
He pounded on Elle's door. On the ten minute cab ride over, he'd done nothing but worry about Elle, rushing out of the cab after practically throwing the fare at the driver, carelessly shifting his appearance while he ran through the front door of the apartment building. He was three seconds away from TK'ing the door open. One...two...thr--
"All right, jeez. Keep your pants on," Elle called from inside the apartment, and he felt himself breathe for the first time in several minutes. She opened the door, clad in only a fluffy bathrobe, her hair wet. "Or don't," she teased him with a throaty laugh. She was fine. He took another breath. "This is a surprise. You were just here yesterday."
"Have you been in the shower for a while?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I called, and you didn't answer, and I had a bad feeling, so..." he trailed off inanely. What the hell was Noah up to?
"Are you drunk?"
"I'm not -- no, I had a few--"
"You are."
"No, I was worried--"
"Liar--"
"Hands up!" They hadn't even noticed the man approaching and pointing a gun at them. He sighed, TK'ed the weapon away from the would-be mugger, then shocked him with a bolt of electricity. The man whimpered and ran down the hall, looking back once with fear-crazed eyes before running out of the building.
"My hero," Elle said sarcastically. "I could have done that last part."
"You're still wet, you would have shocked yourself, too." He picked up the gun and stepped past her into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.
"The look on that guy's face would have been worth it. I'm thinking it was his first violent crime." She closed the door behind him and engaged all the locks.
"Yeah, definitely not a pro." Noah, he thought. Noah had set this whole thing up, but what was the point? To make him prove to Elle that he cared about her, that he would protect her?
"Did you know that was going to happen?" she asked him.
"What?"
"It's just...your behavior is screaming 'precog.' Did you get a handy new power recently?"
"A while ago," he improvised.
"Who'd you kill for that one?"
"No one. I got it through empathy." This series of lies was probably digging him into a hole. He hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him on the ass later.
"Have you been empathizing with other girls?" She was teasing him, but there was a genuine question behind the lightness she displayed. After four months of his platonic visits, and given the history, he could understand.
"No one but you," he said, and he was able to say it sincerely since it was based in truth. Sylar was a destructive force, ripping through both of their lives, both of their families. He was trying to rebuild, for both of them. He hadn't meant to get caught up in his own story; in fact, sometimes it felt like every other word out of his mouth was a lie or an improvisation to cover up some other lie he'd already told, but this part was true. He really did feel something for her; empathy for how much her involvement with Sylar had messed up her life, and something else. Something more visceral that teased at the edges of his carefully controlled persona a little more each time he was around her.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly, like she was about to say something, but before she could, he crossed the six feet of floor between them and crushed his mouth to hers, capturing her face in his hands so she couldn't get away.
Her hands came up between them, palms to his chest, pushing lightly for a few seconds, then surrendering as her lips began returning his kiss and her arms twined up around his neck. Since she wasn't running, he let his hands leave her face and roam down her neck to inch the robe off of her shoulders. She lowered her arms to allow it, and a few seconds later, she was standing naked in front of him. He let himself take a step back and take a moment to look at her beautiful body, then smiled when she started peeling his clothes off, shirt, then pants, which got stuck on his shoes, so she pushed him onto the floor when he bent down to help her. She straddled him on the hardwood floor and it was a little uncomfortable for his back, but he didn't care because she started kissing him again. He'd freed only one leg from his pants when she maneuvered herself above him, using her hand to guide him into her, and suddenly every nerve ending in his body was on fire.
Their bodies moved in tandem, seeking each other, seeking both release and solace. He rolled them over so he was on top, increasing the pace and burying himself deeper in her with every thrust. After they both climaxed, he supported himself over her on his elbows so he wouldn't crush her. He ran his thumbs over her cheekbones, he tangled his fingers in her damp hair, and kissed every inch of her face and neck, until he felt her shiver beneath him.
"Are you cold?" He moved to get her robe so he could drape it over them like a blanket. He also untangled his other leg from his shoe and pants. She laughed at him.
"I guess we were in a hurry."
"Yeah. How's that? Better?" he asked as he settled the robe.
"Actually, not really. This robe is still sort of damp and cold. I think the bed would be better."
"It probably would be," he agreed.
"What is it with us and floors?" she asked, laughing again. He was pleased that they were joking with each other, that she seemed to want him to stay, that there were no regrets for their hasty action. He hoped that would still be the case tomorrow, or next week, next month, as far down the line as they would go.
* * *
"What the hell was that staged mugging about?" he tersely stage-whispered into the phone in the kitchen of Elle's apartment a couple of hours later, after he was certain she was sound asleep in her bed.
"Are you sleeping over? Is that why there's the need to be quiet?"
"None of your business."
"Oh, I'm all for it, Peter. So is your mother. She thought it was time things moved along a little."
"I'm not talking about this with you."
"That's fine. Sleep well, Peter."
He ended the call without saying anything else, turned his phone off, and returned to Elle's bedroom so he could crawl back into bed beside her, curving his body around hers and wrapping an arm around her waist, feeling her breathe evenly next to him until he finally fell asleep.
* * *
It was warm. Hot. Bright.
She was looking down at herself, lying on a beach, engulfed in flames.
He was watching, making sure she burned.
~(on to Parts III & IV)~
Title: Somnambulist
Word Count: 17,056 split between two posts
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Elle, Sylar, Nathan, Bennet, Angela, Matt, Mohinder, minor OFC; Elle/Sylar; Elle/Peter
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: General spoilers for all of Season Three/Volumes 3 & 4. Picks up after end of Volume 4.
Summary: A major cover-up is revealed, and Peter takes it upon himself to deal with the aftermath directly.
A/N: Beta'd by the lovely superkappa, who also gets mad props for holding my hand through writing the end, and based on a very small prompt from faded_facade that took on a life of its own.
Accompanying Artwork: by paperflowered - much thanks, go check out the pretty!
~(on to Parts III & IV)~
* * *
Prologue
* * *
He paused with his hand raised in mid-air, the last chance to change his mind before he knocked on the door. After that, there was no going back. If he was going to back out, he had to do it now. If he was ready to take that leap, he needed to go ahead and jump, stop standing on the edge, caught in between two options: back up and keep dreaming or fly.
He knew what he had to do. His knuckles cracked a sharp notice on the door, his hand hovered for a beat before floating downward, and he was fine for a second. Then...tailspin.
What was he going to say when the door opened - "Sorry about how I left things?" "Glad you're doing all right?" "Can I come in?" He very possibly would get the door slammed in his face, assuming she even opened it at all.
Tumblers turned in deadbolts and the door cracked enough for him to see a length of chain across a slice of blonde hair and one blue eye that widened when she saw who it was.
"Can I come in?" he asked, and the door closed wordlessly but did not slam. The chain slid aside, and she opened the door wide for him, standing far to the side to allow him plenty of space to enter.
"I guess you're probably surprised to see me." He stated the obvious, not sure how much he should say about anything that had gone on, wanting to avoid tripping himself up. He knew more than just the highlights, but the devil was in the details.
"That's kind of an understatement, wouldn't you say?" She sneered at him as she spat out the words while her hand spat out an angry bolt that connected with the exposed skin on his hand.
He had his work cut out for him.
* * *
Part I
* * *
The only warmth on the beach was from the pyre.
Peter, Nathan, and their mother were the only ones still watching him burn, needing to be sure he was disintegrated, to be certain Sylar was gone.
Nathan walked over to stand beside him, and after a few minutes, Angela approached them, somewhat tentatively for her.
"We can go now, nothing else is going to happen. Rather gruesome to continue watching." She turned her back on the flames and started toward the small grouping of parked cars that had gathered at the edge of the beach earlier.
"You can go on home, Ma," Nathan told her retreating back. "I kind of feel like we should keep watching."
There was something strange going on with him, Peter thought. Maybe because he'd finally admitted to some of his cronies that he had an ability.
Because 'one of them' had changed, out loud, to 'one of us.' Nathan had always been the reluctant one when it came to abilities. Peter wondered if Nathan would start to embrace his openly now, or go back to being his old self in the harsh light of day.
"Sure you want to hang around?" he asked Nathan. "It is sort of gruesome."
Nathan crooked an elbow around his neck. "You want to stay, right?" Peter nodded. "I'll stay with you, then."
* * *
Mohinder took another swig from his pint glass. "There are nearly seven billion people on this planet, each one unique. What are the chances of that, and why?"
"I see we've moved on to the philosophical portion of the evening." Peter joined Matt and Mohinder at a small table in the nearly empty bar, and Matt looked relieved.
"I am glad you are finally here," Matt greeted him as he stood. Mohinder appeared momentarily lost in thought.
"Sorry. It took longer than we thought. Is he...okay?"
"Just be happy you can't read thoughts anymore, and that's all I'm going to say about that. I'll get you a drink; what do you want?"
"Whatever's on tap," Peter told Matt and took a seat across from Mohinder, who seemed to finally notice him.
"Is it simply biology, physiology, that determines this diversity? A collection of thoughts, memories, experiences that carve out our own special place? Or is it something more than this? Perhaps there's a master plan that drives the randomness of creation, something unknowable that dwells in the soul and presents each one of us with a unique set of challenges that will help us discover who we really are."
"I wish I could still believe that, Mohinder," Peter said softly when Mohinder took a brief pause to drink the last swallow of beer in his glass. Peter was content to sit and listen to Mohinder's voiced thoughts, slightly less eloquent than they would have been without the alcohol.
"We are all connected, joined together by an invisible thread, infinite in its potential and fragile in its design. Yet while connected, we are also merely individuals, empty vessels to be filled with infinite possibilities. An assortment of thoughts, beliefs. A collection of disjointed memories and experiences. Can I be me without these?"
Matt rejoined them, managing to carry three full pints by himself.
"Can you be you?" Mohinder asked Matt, looking up at him as Matt distributed the glasses.
He rolled his eyes at Peter as he sat down. "He's talking about the invisible thread connecting us all again, isn't he?"
Peter nodded. "I actually think it's kind of interesting," he admitted.
"Why can't we just talk about sports like normal guys?" Matt asked, beleaguered, and took a long drink from his beer.
"And if this invisible thread that holds us together were to sever, to cease, what then? What would become of billions of lone, disconnected souls?" Mohinder continued to quietly wax poetic, mostly oblivious to the other two men.
"Do you really need to ask?" Peter retorted to Matt.
"Therein lies the great quest of our lives: to find, to connect, to hold on. For when our hearts are pure and our thoughts in line, we are all truly one, capable of repairing our fragile world and creating a universe of infinite possibilities."
Peter waited a few seconds to make sure Mohinder was between thoughts, then raised his glass.
"To infinite possibilities."
Matt echoed him, and, after noticing his next full pint glass had appeared in front of him, refilled, so did Mohinder.
* * *
"I'm actually surprised you haven't come looking for me," he told Elle, trying to convey the arrogance implicit in the words of the statement.
"Why in the hell would I do that? The last time I saw you, you sliced my head open." Even though her voice carried a strong note of contempt, he was past the door, and he'd been sure that would be the hard part. Getting in the door had to count for something.
"The last time I sliced your head open, you shocked me hard enough to get me captured. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't fight back for once?" He stayed near the door, just as much to block her only means of escape as to be able to make a quick getaway himself if he needed to.
"That's your excuse? You thought I would fight you?" She took a deep breath and shook her head as if she needed to settle the idea into her brain.
"It's not an excuse," he maintained.
"We were stranded on a deserted beach," she reminded him. "I just wanted to get back to civilization." Tingle. That power continued to come in handy.
"You're lying." He felt confident about confronting her on that point, even if it might backfire and put her on the defensive more than she already was.
"Really. Well, what's the truth, then, if you know so much about me?" She stood in the middle of the living room of her small apartment, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed, and he was reminded of her occasional sudden shifts into petulance from his days as a Company 'guest.'
"You were playing me just like everyone else was," he accused her, and continued as her eyes narrowed but she remained quiet. "I don't know who was pulling your strings, Arthur, or Angela, or someone else, but there's no way you were working on your own."
"I was working with you, you jerk! And I wasn't weak enough for somebody to manipulate me until you left me for dead on a beach." She paused long enough to give him an overly sweet smile. "But obviously you didn't follow through on that really well."
"Obviously." Elle was missing part of the big picture, it appeared. She had yet to make any mention of being set on fire.
"So, what, did you come here to finish the job?" She didn't look overly concerned for her safety; in fact, she turned her back on him and went into the kitchen of the open-layout common area of the apartment and busied herself filling a kettle with water from the tap.
"What if I am? Are you going to make me a cup of tea first?"
"Just trying to be a good hostess." She placed the kettle on a burner and turned it on, then turned back around to face him. "Have a seat?" She indicated a bar stool at the small island to her left.
"Only if you promise to stop at one story instead of trying for all one thousand and one."
"I'm not stalling. I just want the chance to rub it in your face how badly you messed up before you try it again."
According to his power, she was not lying.
* * *
She did not want to wake up. Her head was pounding and she was cold. She was in bed; where was the blanket?
She finally made herself open her eyes, slowly at first, so the industrial brightness of the room wouldn't aggravate her headache, then they snapped open wide when she realized who was in the room with her.
Bennet. She bolted upright in the bed and lifted a hand, preparing to defend herself, but her hand remained empty. Chagrined, she looked over her shoulder, knowing already what she would see: the Haitian, standing there damping her power like a big, silent, power-damping tree, or a statue. Damn it.
"Feeling better?" Bennet asked her, and she turned around to face him with a frown.
"Better than what? Being powerless again, trapped...where are we? Back at the Company? Well, that makes me feel fan-flipping-tastic, Noah." There was something she wasn't getting. She looked down at the Company-issue scrubs she wore. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was--
"There it is," Bennet said cheerfully, noticing the change that must have showed on her face when the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Sylar, on the beach, he'd...
"What, do you want me to thank you or something?" She felt her forehead for the bandage that would certainly be there, but her fingers met only smooth skin. "All right, how long have I been here? My head's all healed, did you keep me knocked out for a while?"
"It's only been a day. And I gave you some of Claire's blood; that's why you healed, after..."
"After Sylar tried to slice my head open again? God, I am an idiot."
"I hate to say 'I told you so,' but--"
"Then don't say it. Just get me some decent clothes, and get me the hell out of here."
"That's not how this works, Elle. You stay here until I need you, then you do what I want."
"I don't think so."
"You shot my daughter."
"So? She's indestructible. And you shot me back, so aren't we even? Oh, hey." She remembered the bullet wound on her thigh, and when she pulled up the leg of her scrubs pants, all that was there was her normal uninjured leg. "Cool."
"I had to get Claire's blood away from the hospital anyway, so they wouldn't be able to take too close of a look at it, and imagine my surprise when I ran into you on a little stroll along the beach, just a few blocks down from the house. I wanted to leave you there, but Angela convinced me to bring you in. So I injected you with Claire's blood, and we flew here in the Company's private jet. I know how much you hate to fly, so I sedated you, too. That's why you're just now waking up." Bennet had found her and saved her. He didn't do it out of any kindness toward her, that was for sure. Maybe to get back at Sylar somehow, but, whatever his reason was, she was stuck here for who knew how long, basically at his mercy. Fantastic.
"So what do you want from me, exactly?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"Nothing just yet. You recuperate, and I'll be in touch," Bennet said with one of those creepy smiles of his and left her alone in the room with the Haitian.
"Got a deck of cards?" she asked him after heaving a deep, resigned sigh.
* * *
"Not even a scar. Bet you didn't see that coming," she said as she proudly showed off her forehead, happy to have bested her circumstances, even if it wasn't through her own actions. He smiled at her, a bit condescendingly. Bennet had left out one very important detail, all right. He would just continue to leave the burned-up body part out, too. It wouldn't do either of them any good to bring that up if she wasn't already aware of it.
"You got me," he admitted. She looked like she wanted to shock him but didn't want to mess up her apartment. Maybe coming to her on her own turf had been the right call after all. "So, what now? Tea, then a fight to the death? Very civilized of you, considering there's only one possible outcome, and it's not in your favor." He was teasing her, trying to keep her on edge. He wanted her to want to play nice with him, but it couldn't be too easy or she'd never react to him the way he needed her to.
"Aren't you curious about how I got out of the Company? Don't you want to know if Bennet's using me as bait for you, waiting in my bedroom while I ply you with some tasty tranq-laced tea?" He smiled inwardly at her highly improbable scenario.
"I'm pretty sure I know how you got out of the Company. Some psycho Level 5 escapee blew the place up, right?"
"Sort of. I think that's what happened, anyway." No tingle, she really did think that's how Primatech had been destroyed.
"And since your so-called 'escape' actually involved running really fast while Bennet was busy looking the other way at the burning building, I'm guessing I don't need to be worried about the prospect of you trying to tranquilize me and turning me over to him."
"Who said I would turn you over? I might just be tempted to keep you for myself, have all sorts of fun with you while you're unconscious." She smiled at him. The first sincere expression on her face since he'd walked through the door, and it involved torturing his helpless body. Not that he expected anything else from her.
The kettle whistled, and she poured the boiling water over the tea bags, tags dangling from strings hanging over the lips of two mugs. She studied him intently when she turned back to him, her eyes perusing him at length while the tea was steeping.
"I don't think you're here to kill me," she finally said.
"Really? Third time's the charm," he suggested, and she laughed softly.
"Really. If you'd come here to kill me, you would have told me you were going to do it so you could enjoy watching me squirm, waiting, wondering when it was finally going to happen." She turned to the counter to finish preparing the tea. "You like it when they're afraid of you." Her back to him again, proving to him she wasn't afraid.
"Let's say you're right."
"I am."
"Okay, fine, you are. What do you think I'm here for, then?" She turned and brought the mugs to the island and set them down, then perched on the stool opposite his.
"Oh, come on. It's a special day today. Unfortunately, I'm not seeing any painstakingly wrapped presents or even any jewelry box-sized lumps in your pockets..."
"Your birthday." Now he remembered.
"It's okay, I'd like to forget it, too." She cocked her head to one side while she studied his face yet again. "There's something different about you."
"No, there's not. Don't change the subject."
"There is. I'm not sure what, but definitely something."
"I'm parting my hair to the other side. What do you want for your birthday?"
"What? No, it's not your hair. Well, that is a little different, but that's not what I'm talking about."
"Do you want jewelry?"
"Hmph. I can't figure it out." She relaxed back onto her bar stool, apparently giving up for the moment. "For God's sake, nothing in gold." While she took a small sip of the hot tea, she looked at him through lowered lashes above the rim of the mug, eyes twinkling. Her second sincere facial expression.
* * *
"I wasn't sure what to get you," Nathan prefaced as he handed Peter the small square box wrapped in beige paper and thin gold ribbon.
"You know I don't care about stuff like that," he replied as he took the birthday gift from Nathan. "Besides, I'm sure Mom got me something expensive and impractical, so this is like a bonus."
"It's practical, at least." Nathan watched Peter's face as he opened the box, revealing a watch bearing a name that Peter recognized as very high-end. He lifted it out of the box to take a closer look, all polished metal and smooth crystal face, while Nathan began pointing out its features. "Waterproof, shockproof, and it won't lose a second for years, at least. You can wear it to work; it's tougher than it looks."
"Thanks, Nathan," Peter told him, genuinely grateful. It was obvious that Nathan had actually chosen this present himself for once instead of sending Heidi like he used to, or an assistant, or worst of all, their mother, to pick something out for him at the last minute. "I really like it. I'll wear it all the time." He put it on, cold against his skin at first, but warming quickly.
"Happy birthday, Peter."
* * *
"Thanks for the tea."
"Sure."
"Happy birthday."
"Thanks."
"Next time, I'll bring your present."
"Okay." She closed the apartment door, and from the hallway he could hear the chain slide back into place, the deadbolts locking him back out. But he knew he could get back in anytime he wanted.
He waited until he was in his car to make the phone call.
"How did it go?" Bennet asked him.
"Fine. You were right, after a few minutes, she actually seemed happy to see me."
"To see him, you mean, right, Peter?" Noah said pointedly.
"Yeah, you know what I mean. It's still a little confusing sometimes." He looked in the rear view mirror at the face shifting from Sylar's back to his own. "She doesn't remember him burning her. You said you didn't mind-wipe her, and I didn't fill her in, but she doesn't remember that."
"Technically, she was dead already when that happened."
"Well, she won't hear it from me."
"Just stick to the plan. When does she expect you back?"
"Soon, I think. Oh, and you sent me here on her birthday?"
"Right, I meant to tell you." Tingle. "She likes platinum."
* * *
"Well, I hate to break up the party, but I've got an early day tomorrow." Nathan stood up from the couch in the living room of their mother's Georgetown townhome, where they had gathered to celebrate Peter's birthday. Angela and Peter both got up to hug Nathan before he left, and when he was gone, Angela focused her attention on Peter.
"That's a very nice watch your brother gave you," she commented, examining his gift from Nathan.
"Yeah, he seemed real excited about it. I think he even picked it out all by himself."
"I didn't help him," Angela admitted.
There was an insistent knock at the door.
"Nathan probably left his keys," Peter quipped, going to answer the door, but when he opened it, Noah Bennet was on the other side.
"Peter. Good to see you." Peter moved aside to let Noah enter. "Is your mother around?"
"Noah, what are you doing all the way over here at this time of night?" Between his mother's false casual tone of voice and Noah's appearance timed conveniently right after Nathan's departure, it was obvious to Peter something was going on. He took his cue.
"I'll just clear the dishes from dessert into the kitchen, there, and leave you two alone." He echoed Angela's tone as he gathered up the plates and forks littered with birthday cake crumbs and cleared them into the kitchen sink. Before he turned the water on, he heard Noah say, "Guess who just got her very own apartment here in D. C.?" The noise of the running water covered Angela's reply and the next part of the conversation.
When he turned the water off, he heard Angela saying in disbelief "--gave Peter a watch for his birthday. A watch!"
"Angela, we'll just call Parkman and get him to come for another visit," was Noah's hushed reply. Parkman? Peter thought. What did they want Matt here for?
"I don't know how many times I can do this, Noah." His mother's voice was choked, pained. He couldn't stay in the kitchen and eavesdrop any more.
"What's wrong?" he asked when he re-entered the living room. His mother quickly changed her facial expression to the neutral mask he had seen frequently in his formative years, and Noah was as unreadable as he'd ever been.
"Elle Bishop is here in D. C.," Angela explained.
"What does that have to do with Nathan or Matt?" he asked, knowing his mother was feeding him a crumb of truth in the hopes he would be satisfied.
"We're just concerned that she'll blame your brother for what happened to Sylar, and do something to try to hurt him," his mother continued. Peter felt something strange, a sinking in his stomach, almost like a growl of hunger, but softer, more like a tingle.
"That's not...that's not right," he said, certain she had lied.
"What's not right, darling?" Angela took a couple of steps toward him, concern replacing the neutrality. Noah hung back and watched with narrowed eyes.
"You're lying. There's something else going on."
"Don't be ridiculous, Peter, why would I lie about something that concerns your brother's safety?"
"I don't know, Mom, why don't I go ask Nathan about it? See if he's told his staff to be on the lookout for Elle?"
"It's more complicated than that." His mother gave him her stock answer for 'I don't want to explain myself; just do as I tell you.'
"Then simplify it for me. Sylar and Elle couldn't have been all that close. She wasn't around at all after the eclipse; she wasn't anywhere that he was during all the stuff that happened right before Nathan and I--"
"Because I had her at Primatech right after the eclipse," Noah cut in. "She escaped when Sylar blew up the building, and I didn't know what happened to either of them until Sylar came to D. C. and started working with Danko." Peter believed him, but there was still something else.
"What about Matt? Why does he need to be here?"
"If Elle tries to get near Nathan, Matt would know before any of us, and he'd be able to influence Elle's thoughts, even make her think Nathan's not there at all when he's right in front of her nose," Angela explained.
Technically, that might be true, but if it would be so easy for Matt to avert whatever disaster they thought Elle was going to try to cause, why was the process so unbearable for Angela?
"And that's all it is?" he asked both of them, and they nodded.
"That's all, Peter," Angela reiterated. Tingle.
He let it drop, and then, the next morning, when he approached Angela after shifting into Noah's semblance, he discovered what they'd been hiding about Nathan.
He was surprised at how easily he'd fooled his mother.
Once the shock wore off over the sheer gall of their scheme, the enormity of what they'd done started to sink in. Nathan, the real Nathan, was gone. They had replaced his dead brother with a despised serial killer, and were helping him rise up in the ranks of the U. S. government. They weren't worried about Elle getting to Nathan, they were worried about Elle getting through to Sylar. That was why they needed Matt; to control his thoughts, not Elle's.
Peter's duplicity was discovered quickly, during the next of the multiple daily phone calls from Angela to Noah or vice-versa. Angela was furious with Peter at first, but she softened as Peter pressed them for details over dinner that night. Noah seemed excited, reinvigorated, and pitched his new idea to Angela and Peter, this way he'd thought of to quietly occupy Elle and keep her away from the new Nathan with no one outside the three of them and Parkman ever knowing the reality of the situation.
The more his mother and Noah revealed, the more Peter realized they were all in this up to their necks, and the charade must continue at all costs. He reluctantly agreed to Noah's new plan, and every minute after that, he felt like more of a traitor to Nathan for essentially helping to protect his brother's killer.
* * *
Part II
* * *
After three months of sporadic visits, a sort of non-routine had developed. He would stop by on different days of the week, always unannounced, at different times of the day, never the same twice in a row. He would drop off a gift (platinum pendant on a silver chain for her belated birthday) or a sugary dessert (the baklava was a big hit; so was the gas-station cotton candy) and stay for twenty minutes or half an hour, making small talk and occasionally assigning blame for past perceived wrongs.
One day, he was disappointed to find her not at home when he'd brought her a really great gift. He looped the handle of the bag over the doorknob and looked in his jacket pocket for a piece of paper to write on and came up with a receipt from his earlier gasoline purchase and the pen he carried all the time. He'd gotten about halfway through writing the short note against the door when Elle came walking toward him down the apartment building hallway.
He looked up at her and smiled. She gave him a small smile in return.
"I thought you were a lefty," she commented.
"Lefty? Oh, you mean...I'm both," he covered, and she seemed to accept the lie, shaking her head and laughing softly at him as he took her grocery bags from her and moved so she could unlock the door. She lifted his latest gift off of the doorknob and let them both in, indicating that he should put the groceries on the island.
"What is it this time?" she asked eagerly.
"Open it and see," he told her, unable to stop the proud smile. He had outdone himself this time, and he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when--
Elle's squeal interrupted his thought process.
"So you like it?" he asked, laughing. He'd scouted a lot of smaller thrift and secondhand shops before picking out the retro-style cuckoo clock he instinctively knew she would be delighted by.
"It's perfect! I love it!" She launched herself at him to give him a grateful hug, and for just a second he panicked, wondering if the entire charade would fall apart the instant they had more contact than her laying a casual hand on his forearm, or an accidental touch while brushing past one another in the small kitchen, cleaning up after tea. Then her arms slid around his waist, and the world didn't end; she still looked at him with the same eyes. Even better, the slight reticence that had normally been there over the past three months was gone, leaving her eyes more open, more welcoming.
He pulled her closer, hugging her in return. He wanted to keep that new openness in her eyes. She looked happier that way, and that was what he was supposed to be doing: keeping her happy so she wouldn't cause any trouble for anyone in his family. So far, it had been easy. He impulsively bent his head down to plant a kiss on her temple near her hairline.
She pulled back from him, giving him a questioning look, and busied herself putting away the groceries. Her eyes were back to normal.
"Bring a hammer and a nail next time; you're going to have to put that up for me."
* * *
"Dinner was good, Ma," Nathan said as he relaxed back into his dining chair, drowsily full after the huge meal Angela had organized for Nathan to introduce his new girlfriend, Darcy, to them.
"Thank you, dear," Angela replied. Peter hadn't been able to eat very much food; he'd been too busy watching his mother out of the corner of his eye and being amazed at how easily she seemed to lie. Four months later and he still had trouble lying to Elle so blatantly, even if he did only see her once or twice a week. He did not know how his mother, and for that matter, Noah, did it.
"So, Peter, are you seeing anyone special?" Darcy asked innocently, trying to make conversation. She was blonde (shocker) and pretty, and Peter really couldn't tell if she knew about their abilities or not, so he left out the part about all the women he dated ending up dead or lost in time, settling for "no one special right now." Nathan chose that moment to needle him a little.
"Peter's too busy saving the world to have a girlfriend, right, Pete?" Sometimes, for just a few seconds, he forgot there was anything different at all.
"I work weird hours."
"As a paramedic, right?"
"Right."
"Well, I think it's noble."
"I'm very proud of both of my boys," Angela interjected, getting up from her chair and moving behind Peter, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Peter, will you help me clear the table and serve dessert and coffee?" He stood and followed his mother into the kitchen, happy to get away from Darcy and Nathan for a few minutes so he could relax a bit. Deceiving Nathan (or Sylar, actually) was draining; being around Elle never took it out of him like this, as much as he hated the deception.
As they finished the tiramisu, Angela remarked casually, "We should appreciate these times we all have together; this time next year we'll be too busy with the caucuses to sit down and have dinner together."
If that had really been Nathan, Peter would have been fine. But it wasn't, and suddenly he couldn't stay there and play along any more. If he didn't leave his mother's house, he would ruin the whole plan. He got up and made a lame excuse about forgetting he'd picked up an extra shift that night, then he hurried out the front door, leaving the others puzzled.
His hand was on his phone as soon as he cleared the front stoop, wanting to dial Elle's number, but skipping over it in favor of Matt, who was in D. C. for the Nathan refresher course they'd needed him to do earlier that day. At least Matt knew what Peter was doing and would understand why he was so frustrated. Peter hated that Matt had been complicit in keeping the secret of Nathan's death with his mother and Noah, but he was the only other person in the world Peter felt like he could be himself around who didn't have an ulterior motive or a plan for him, and tonight he needed to blow off some steam.
* * *
"I'm just really sick of having to hear my mom talk about putting him in the White House. It's bad enough already as it is." Peter took a large swallow to finish his third beer of the hour that he'd spent sitting at the bar with Matt.
"Yeah, that's not the smartest thing I've ever done, letting your mom and Bennet railroad me into doing that. Now I'm stuck with it for God knows how long," Matt commiserated.
"What happens if your thing wears off, the powers-memory-thing you did?" Peter asked. Any time he tried to ask his mother about the possibility, she just told him it wouldn't happen and changed the subject.
"I don't really know. It's not like I've ever done this before. I guess he could remember things from Sylar's past, but if that happened, hopefully he would just think it was a dream he had, or a hallucination or something."
"And we just keep using you to reboot his mind and me to keep Elle occupied and away from him and hope no one finds out what we're doing, especially him? What a shitty plan." Peter's phone vibrated in his pocket. "Speak of the devil," he said when he saw who was calling.
"Which one?" Matt asked sardonically.
"Noah Bennet," Peter spat out into his phone to serve as a greeting. Matt rolled his eyes and took a drink of his beer. "What can I do for you tonight?"
"Are you -- drunk?"
"Working on it."
"Well, stop. I need you to get over to Elle's right away. Take a cab."
"What for?"
"Just do it, please, Peter."
"Is she okay? What's going on?"
"She's okay, for now. Get going." Noah disconnected the call, leaving Peter with a surge of concern for Elle. He called Noah's number, but it went straight to voice mail. He called Elle's number: voice mail. He exhaled harshly and pulled out his wallet, leaving a twenty on the bar to cover his share of the tab.
"I've got to go," he told Matt.
"Wow, you're the only one who jumps faster than I do when Bennet calls," Matt ribbed him as he walked toward the exit.
* * *
He pounded on Elle's door. On the ten minute cab ride over, he'd done nothing but worry about Elle, rushing out of the cab after practically throwing the fare at the driver, carelessly shifting his appearance while he ran through the front door of the apartment building. He was three seconds away from TK'ing the door open. One...two...thr--
"All right, jeez. Keep your pants on," Elle called from inside the apartment, and he felt himself breathe for the first time in several minutes. She opened the door, clad in only a fluffy bathrobe, her hair wet. "Or don't," she teased him with a throaty laugh. She was fine. He took another breath. "This is a surprise. You were just here yesterday."
"Have you been in the shower for a while?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I called, and you didn't answer, and I had a bad feeling, so..." he trailed off inanely. What the hell was Noah up to?
"Are you drunk?"
"I'm not -- no, I had a few--"
"You are."
"No, I was worried--"
"Liar--"
"Hands up!" They hadn't even noticed the man approaching and pointing a gun at them. He sighed, TK'ed the weapon away from the would-be mugger, then shocked him with a bolt of electricity. The man whimpered and ran down the hall, looking back once with fear-crazed eyes before running out of the building.
"My hero," Elle said sarcastically. "I could have done that last part."
"You're still wet, you would have shocked yourself, too." He picked up the gun and stepped past her into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.
"The look on that guy's face would have been worth it. I'm thinking it was his first violent crime." She closed the door behind him and engaged all the locks.
"Yeah, definitely not a pro." Noah, he thought. Noah had set this whole thing up, but what was the point? To make him prove to Elle that he cared about her, that he would protect her?
"Did you know that was going to happen?" she asked him.
"What?"
"It's just...your behavior is screaming 'precog.' Did you get a handy new power recently?"
"A while ago," he improvised.
"Who'd you kill for that one?"
"No one. I got it through empathy." This series of lies was probably digging him into a hole. He hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him on the ass later.
"Have you been empathizing with other girls?" She was teasing him, but there was a genuine question behind the lightness she displayed. After four months of his platonic visits, and given the history, he could understand.
"No one but you," he said, and he was able to say it sincerely since it was based in truth. Sylar was a destructive force, ripping through both of their lives, both of their families. He was trying to rebuild, for both of them. He hadn't meant to get caught up in his own story; in fact, sometimes it felt like every other word out of his mouth was a lie or an improvisation to cover up some other lie he'd already told, but this part was true. He really did feel something for her; empathy for how much her involvement with Sylar had messed up her life, and something else. Something more visceral that teased at the edges of his carefully controlled persona a little more each time he was around her.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly, like she was about to say something, but before she could, he crossed the six feet of floor between them and crushed his mouth to hers, capturing her face in his hands so she couldn't get away.
Her hands came up between them, palms to his chest, pushing lightly for a few seconds, then surrendering as her lips began returning his kiss and her arms twined up around his neck. Since she wasn't running, he let his hands leave her face and roam down her neck to inch the robe off of her shoulders. She lowered her arms to allow it, and a few seconds later, she was standing naked in front of him. He let himself take a step back and take a moment to look at her beautiful body, then smiled when she started peeling his clothes off, shirt, then pants, which got stuck on his shoes, so she pushed him onto the floor when he bent down to help her. She straddled him on the hardwood floor and it was a little uncomfortable for his back, but he didn't care because she started kissing him again. He'd freed only one leg from his pants when she maneuvered herself above him, using her hand to guide him into her, and suddenly every nerve ending in his body was on fire.
Their bodies moved in tandem, seeking each other, seeking both release and solace. He rolled them over so he was on top, increasing the pace and burying himself deeper in her with every thrust. After they both climaxed, he supported himself over her on his elbows so he wouldn't crush her. He ran his thumbs over her cheekbones, he tangled his fingers in her damp hair, and kissed every inch of her face and neck, until he felt her shiver beneath him.
"Are you cold?" He moved to get her robe so he could drape it over them like a blanket. He also untangled his other leg from his shoe and pants. She laughed at him.
"I guess we were in a hurry."
"Yeah. How's that? Better?" he asked as he settled the robe.
"Actually, not really. This robe is still sort of damp and cold. I think the bed would be better."
"It probably would be," he agreed.
"What is it with us and floors?" she asked, laughing again. He was pleased that they were joking with each other, that she seemed to want him to stay, that there were no regrets for their hasty action. He hoped that would still be the case tomorrow, or next week, next month, as far down the line as they would go.
* * *
"What the hell was that staged mugging about?" he tersely stage-whispered into the phone in the kitchen of Elle's apartment a couple of hours later, after he was certain she was sound asleep in her bed.
"Are you sleeping over? Is that why there's the need to be quiet?"
"None of your business."
"Oh, I'm all for it, Peter. So is your mother. She thought it was time things moved along a little."
"I'm not talking about this with you."
"That's fine. Sleep well, Peter."
He ended the call without saying anything else, turned his phone off, and returned to Elle's bedroom so he could crawl back into bed beside her, curving his body around hers and wrapping an arm around her waist, feeling her breathe evenly next to him until he finally fell asleep.
* * *
It was warm. Hot. Bright.
She was looking down at herself, lying on a beach, engulfed in flames.
He was watching, making sure she burned.
~(on to Parts III & IV)~