All the Gray Areas
Title: All the Gray Areas
Fandom: Heroes
Rating/Genre: G/Gen
Characters/Pairing: Angela Petrelli, Lydia (Noah Bennet)/parings open to interpretation
Summary: Angela comes to the carnival under the pretext of looking for Claire, and talks to Lydia about black and white.
Word count: 1723
Spoilers/Warnings: No.
Notes: Written for One-shot Challenge #30, Black and White, at heroes_contest.
Angela knocks on the open door to Lydia’s trailer and the familiar face turns around to look over a tattooed shoulder. Familiar, but it’s been a couple of years since Angela saw her last and Lydia is older, more mature.
Lydia gets up immediately and drops her scarf to the floor, leaving both her shoulders bare, and her surprised expression turns to a smile, mixed with just the slightest hint of caution.
“Angela Petrelli,” she says in acknowledgement, “I didn’t think I was going to see you again.” A brief pause. “But things are changing now and lots of people have been coming and going lately…”
Although not invited yet, Angela enters the trailer and closes the door behind her.
“That’s what I’m doing - coming and going. I’m not going to stay.”
The woman simply nods, not showing any sign of disappointment.
“Ah,” she said, and motions towards her bed, “but why don’t you sit down for a moment. Now that you’re here.”
She sits down on her bed and Angela sits on a chair. There is a small, white plastic table between them and Angela’s hand plays absentmindedly with something she found on it and takes a look around her. The trailer is clean but very untidy, things everywhere, and small - smaller than Angela’s walk-in closet. Still, she likes it there; the place is very… Lydia, and the scent of her perfume lingers in the air, not insistent but with a distinct presence.
Lydia says nothing, asks nothing. She is just looking at Angela as if they have all the time in the world to sit in comfortable silence like two old friends. But there is no time to waste, and what’s ever comfortable between old friends anyway?
Angela rolls the little thing between her fingers. It’s one of these tiny paper bags with salt or sugar - or is it pepper? - often found in fast food restaurants instead of proper salt cellars.
“Claire Bennet”, she says and breaks the silence. “I know she’s here. I’m here to tell her to go back to college.”
Lydia laughs beautifully, mockingly. As if she can’t believe what she hears.
“From what I have seen of her so far, I don’t think she’s the kind of girl who does what she’s told. And you should know that.”
Angela hums, nods in agreement. Oh, she knows.
She is the same way. She does not let anybody dictate her life for her. But that phone call, after such a long silence…
“… And Lauren and I tried to make Edgar cooperate but he just left. I don’t like this, Angela. I don’t like that she is with these people.”
“I know, Noah.”
Angela pressed the cell phone to her ear as if she could get closer to his voice by doing that, closer to him. As if they were the best of friends, as if they were there to support each other in their worries about their children. Always these worries about their children.
“But what do you want me to do? Now is not a good time for me. Peter just ran off, chasing after… him…”
Angela’s voice trailed off, knowing that Noah’s support was… reluctant, to say the least. But he was involved, whether he wanted it or not. Sooner or later Peter was going to come to him.
“Claire doesn’t understand what kind of people she’s dealing with,” he went on, ignoring what she wanted to say to him. “I can’t get hold of her. She took something from me that I found, a compass…”
“Yes,” Angela said with a sigh, “a compass. I know, I have one of those.”
Lydia looks her in the eyes and takes her hand. One of Lydia’s nails cuts through the small paper bag.
Black pepper on the white table. It forms an irregular pattern looking almost like a tattoo.
“You are not here because of Claire,” Lydia says.
First, Noah stopped looking her in the eyes. Then he stopped asking questions, and then he didn’t even want to listen. Then he stopped returning her calls.
As if he had forgotten that he had been in on it, too. As if she was the only one to blame.
Not until she lost his support did she realize how much she had come to need it. Not until he called her, worried sick about his daughter, did she realize how things had changed. His refusal to stand by her angered her, and normally she would have let him know. Normally she didn’t listen when somebody asked her to please do something she didn’t see the point of doing.
But nothing is normal anymore. There is no time to make plans, form alliances and wait for the right moment. No time to rest, no time to escape from the dreams.
Except, perhaps, on stolen time.
No, Lydia is right. Angela is not there because of Claire.
“Lydia,” she says and reaches out her other hand for Lydia to take, “Lydia, why did you join the carnival?”
That is not what she was going to say but she is not ready yet.
“You know why.” The tattooed woman, still so beautiful and young, sighs impatiently. “I wanted a family, I needed this place.”
“The Company…”
Lydia shakes her head, cuts off the interruption.
“No, the Company was always something else entirely, and you know it. We all make our own choices.”
Angela doesn’t allow the silence to fall again, she takes a breath and lets it out filled with words.
“I did something very stupid, Lydia. I did something bad.”
There. She said it. She frees one hand and with her index finger, she makes a new pattern, spreads the black pepper out wider on the table.
“What, again?”
Lydia smiles and tosses her hair over her shoulder, pretends that it’s just another silly little problem, easily taken care of with a soft laugh and sympathy.
“You were always such a badass, weren’t you, Angela? Always following your own secret path, eliminating everyone and everything in your way…”
“No, it’s not like that…”
“No,” Lydia agrees and releases Angela’s other hand before she gets up from the bed and goes to stand right next to Angela.
She puts a hand on Angela’s shoulder and lets it rest there, warm and soft. It has been years, Angela has almost lost count but she has not forgotten the touch of the tattooed girl who once declined an offer to make herself useful and gain a position in the Company.
She had been so young, younger than Claire is now. The Company could have taken care of them, her child too, educated them, trained them. Lydia could have been the older and more stable sister Bob’s daughter probably would have needed…
But Lydia, like Claire, like Angela, had wanted to make her own decisions. Had the carnival made her happy? Joseph and his people! Joseph was not a bad man, he could handle his carnival, his family. But the brother, on the other hand…
“I had a very dark dream the night before Samuel was born,” she says. “But I didn’t understand it. It was just one of many nightmares and I just wanted them to stop.”
Angela has never told Lydia any details about her past. But Lydia understands anyway. Lydia is the only reason why Angela has sometimes visited the carnival.
“Come,” Lydia says, “come and sit down beside me, I want to tell you something.”
Angela does not object. She stands up and Lydia wipes the pepper off her fingers with a tissue, slowly as if time is standing still. Angela lets it stand still and she lets herself be led to the bed where Lydia takes her hand and slides another one around her shoulders.
Lydia surrounds Angela with her soft body and with her flow of understanding and acceptance that makes a corresponding flow of tears rise in Angela’s eyes.
The tears are hot and they fall quietly. Angela Petrelli does not cry when other people can see it, but Lydia… Lydia is not just anybody. She won’t tell. Crying in front of her is something of the most comforting Angela has experienced in a very, very long time.
“You always base your decisions on necessity,” Lydia says, “not on what your heart tells you. Except that one time. You wanted to save someone you love.”
It’s not a question but Angela confirms, “Yes.”
“Love is important,” Lydia goes on and Angela rests her head against her shoulder. “You need to forgive yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Angela says, and remembers the last time Alice looked at her, and Matt Parkman, and Noah, and Peter, and Sylar through Nathan’s eyes.
“Yes,” Lydia insists and holds her tighter. “You can forgive yourself for Alice, for Sylar, for your sons. There is nothing that can’t be forgiven in the name of love.”
Angela sighs. Lydia makes everything so easy. Love or not love, black or white.
“What about all the gray areas?” she asks.
Lydia nods, her chin against Angela’s hair.
“Yes, if you look at them closely you can always separate the white from the black. Deep down, you know that you are only doing what you feel is right.”
Angela keeps her eyes closed but she knows that all the tattoos on Lydia’s body have something to tell. She doesn’t need to see them, she only needs to feel understood. Lydia’s hand is warm on the back of her head, in her neck, on her shoulder. Angela sobs quietly and the young woman rubs her back.
“You feel better now, don’t you?”
Yes, she does. As long as she is held by Lydia’s arms, even knowing that the moment will be over soon, she feels better.
“Things are changing, Angela. Everything we have taken for granted, everything you have fought for.”
Yes. Angela knows this, and more. Lydia kisses her. Angela is not surprised but she only allows it for a second, pulls away, interrupts the flow of emotions between them.
Angela leaves the carnival without seeing Claire. She is going to see Noah and make him talk to her again. And she is going to tell him that sometimes it is just not possible to fight the future, especially not when it means fighting against your children.
Fandom: Heroes
Rating/Genre: G/Gen
Characters/Pairing: Angela Petrelli, Lydia (Noah Bennet)/parings open to interpretation
Summary: Angela comes to the carnival under the pretext of looking for Claire, and talks to Lydia about black and white.
Word count: 1723
Spoilers/Warnings: No.
Notes: Written for One-shot Challenge #30, Black and White, at heroes_contest.
Angela knocks on the open door to Lydia’s trailer and the familiar face turns around to look over a tattooed shoulder. Familiar, but it’s been a couple of years since Angela saw her last and Lydia is older, more mature.
Lydia gets up immediately and drops her scarf to the floor, leaving both her shoulders bare, and her surprised expression turns to a smile, mixed with just the slightest hint of caution.
“Angela Petrelli,” she says in acknowledgement, “I didn’t think I was going to see you again.” A brief pause. “But things are changing now and lots of people have been coming and going lately…”
Although not invited yet, Angela enters the trailer and closes the door behind her.
“That’s what I’m doing - coming and going. I’m not going to stay.”
The woman simply nods, not showing any sign of disappointment.
“Ah,” she said, and motions towards her bed, “but why don’t you sit down for a moment. Now that you’re here.”
She sits down on her bed and Angela sits on a chair. There is a small, white plastic table between them and Angela’s hand plays absentmindedly with something she found on it and takes a look around her. The trailer is clean but very untidy, things everywhere, and small - smaller than Angela’s walk-in closet. Still, she likes it there; the place is very… Lydia, and the scent of her perfume lingers in the air, not insistent but with a distinct presence.
Lydia says nothing, asks nothing. She is just looking at Angela as if they have all the time in the world to sit in comfortable silence like two old friends. But there is no time to waste, and what’s ever comfortable between old friends anyway?
Angela rolls the little thing between her fingers. It’s one of these tiny paper bags with salt or sugar - or is it pepper? - often found in fast food restaurants instead of proper salt cellars.
“Claire Bennet”, she says and breaks the silence. “I know she’s here. I’m here to tell her to go back to college.”
Lydia laughs beautifully, mockingly. As if she can’t believe what she hears.
“From what I have seen of her so far, I don’t think she’s the kind of girl who does what she’s told. And you should know that.”
Angela hums, nods in agreement. Oh, she knows.
She is the same way. She does not let anybody dictate her life for her. But that phone call, after such a long silence…
“… And Lauren and I tried to make Edgar cooperate but he just left. I don’t like this, Angela. I don’t like that she is with these people.”
“I know, Noah.”
Angela pressed the cell phone to her ear as if she could get closer to his voice by doing that, closer to him. As if they were the best of friends, as if they were there to support each other in their worries about their children. Always these worries about their children.
“But what do you want me to do? Now is not a good time for me. Peter just ran off, chasing after… him…”
Angela’s voice trailed off, knowing that Noah’s support was… reluctant, to say the least. But he was involved, whether he wanted it or not. Sooner or later Peter was going to come to him.
“Claire doesn’t understand what kind of people she’s dealing with,” he went on, ignoring what she wanted to say to him. “I can’t get hold of her. She took something from me that I found, a compass…”
“Yes,” Angela said with a sigh, “a compass. I know, I have one of those.”
Lydia looks her in the eyes and takes her hand. One of Lydia’s nails cuts through the small paper bag.
Black pepper on the white table. It forms an irregular pattern looking almost like a tattoo.
“You are not here because of Claire,” Lydia says.
First, Noah stopped looking her in the eyes. Then he stopped asking questions, and then he didn’t even want to listen. Then he stopped returning her calls.
As if he had forgotten that he had been in on it, too. As if she was the only one to blame.
Not until she lost his support did she realize how much she had come to need it. Not until he called her, worried sick about his daughter, did she realize how things had changed. His refusal to stand by her angered her, and normally she would have let him know. Normally she didn’t listen when somebody asked her to please do something she didn’t see the point of doing.
But nothing is normal anymore. There is no time to make plans, form alliances and wait for the right moment. No time to rest, no time to escape from the dreams.
Except, perhaps, on stolen time.
No, Lydia is right. Angela is not there because of Claire.
“Lydia,” she says and reaches out her other hand for Lydia to take, “Lydia, why did you join the carnival?”
That is not what she was going to say but she is not ready yet.
“You know why.” The tattooed woman, still so beautiful and young, sighs impatiently. “I wanted a family, I needed this place.”
“The Company…”
Lydia shakes her head, cuts off the interruption.
“No, the Company was always something else entirely, and you know it. We all make our own choices.”
Angela doesn’t allow the silence to fall again, she takes a breath and lets it out filled with words.
“I did something very stupid, Lydia. I did something bad.”
There. She said it. She frees one hand and with her index finger, she makes a new pattern, spreads the black pepper out wider on the table.
“What, again?”
Lydia smiles and tosses her hair over her shoulder, pretends that it’s just another silly little problem, easily taken care of with a soft laugh and sympathy.
“You were always such a badass, weren’t you, Angela? Always following your own secret path, eliminating everyone and everything in your way…”
“No, it’s not like that…”
“No,” Lydia agrees and releases Angela’s other hand before she gets up from the bed and goes to stand right next to Angela.
She puts a hand on Angela’s shoulder and lets it rest there, warm and soft. It has been years, Angela has almost lost count but she has not forgotten the touch of the tattooed girl who once declined an offer to make herself useful and gain a position in the Company.
She had been so young, younger than Claire is now. The Company could have taken care of them, her child too, educated them, trained them. Lydia could have been the older and more stable sister Bob’s daughter probably would have needed…
But Lydia, like Claire, like Angela, had wanted to make her own decisions. Had the carnival made her happy? Joseph and his people! Joseph was not a bad man, he could handle his carnival, his family. But the brother, on the other hand…
“I had a very dark dream the night before Samuel was born,” she says. “But I didn’t understand it. It was just one of many nightmares and I just wanted them to stop.”
Angela has never told Lydia any details about her past. But Lydia understands anyway. Lydia is the only reason why Angela has sometimes visited the carnival.
“Come,” Lydia says, “come and sit down beside me, I want to tell you something.”
Angela does not object. She stands up and Lydia wipes the pepper off her fingers with a tissue, slowly as if time is standing still. Angela lets it stand still and she lets herself be led to the bed where Lydia takes her hand and slides another one around her shoulders.
Lydia surrounds Angela with her soft body and with her flow of understanding and acceptance that makes a corresponding flow of tears rise in Angela’s eyes.
The tears are hot and they fall quietly. Angela Petrelli does not cry when other people can see it, but Lydia… Lydia is not just anybody. She won’t tell. Crying in front of her is something of the most comforting Angela has experienced in a very, very long time.
“You always base your decisions on necessity,” Lydia says, “not on what your heart tells you. Except that one time. You wanted to save someone you love.”
It’s not a question but Angela confirms, “Yes.”
“Love is important,” Lydia goes on and Angela rests her head against her shoulder. “You need to forgive yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Angela says, and remembers the last time Alice looked at her, and Matt Parkman, and Noah, and Peter, and Sylar through Nathan’s eyes.
“Yes,” Lydia insists and holds her tighter. “You can forgive yourself for Alice, for Sylar, for your sons. There is nothing that can’t be forgiven in the name of love.”
Angela sighs. Lydia makes everything so easy. Love or not love, black or white.
“What about all the gray areas?” she asks.
Lydia nods, her chin against Angela’s hair.
“Yes, if you look at them closely you can always separate the white from the black. Deep down, you know that you are only doing what you feel is right.”
Angela keeps her eyes closed but she knows that all the tattoos on Lydia’s body have something to tell. She doesn’t need to see them, she only needs to feel understood. Lydia’s hand is warm on the back of her head, in her neck, on her shoulder. Angela sobs quietly and the young woman rubs her back.
“You feel better now, don’t you?”
Yes, she does. As long as she is held by Lydia’s arms, even knowing that the moment will be over soon, she feels better.
“Things are changing, Angela. Everything we have taken for granted, everything you have fought for.”
Yes. Angela knows this, and more. Lydia kisses her. Angela is not surprised but she only allows it for a second, pulls away, interrupts the flow of emotions between them.
Angela leaves the carnival without seeing Claire. She is going to see Noah and make him talk to her again. And she is going to tell him that sometimes it is just not possible to fight the future, especially not when it means fighting against your children.