FIC: Angel with a Broken Watch, Prologue
Title: Angel with a Broken Watch, Prologue
Characters/Pairings: implied Elle/Gabriel, The Haitian, Bob Bishop, Dr. Zimmerman, more in later chapters
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters
Word count: 718
Spoiler alert: definite spoilers later on for episode 3x08
Summary: It's in her best interest that she doesn't remember any of this...
Author's note: This story came out of speculation that the Noah Gray we saw four years into the future is older than four years old. While this is probably a case of kindergarten-style Dawson casting, I was inspired to come up with a way to explain it if he was older. Anyway, I expect this whole thing to get jossed in the next few new episodes. The timeline probably wouldn't work out for this anyway!
And also super-special thanks to aurilly for high-fives and hand-holding.
Angel with a Broken Watch
"It's in her best interest, you know."
The Haitian folded his hands before him, bowing his head, reflecting on the words of Bob Bishop. When he had gone into the office of the regional manager of Primatech Paper, he'd had no idea about the nature of this top-secret assignment. As it turned out, the nature of the assignment was intensely personal. The Haitian felt like an intruder in the small room - a cell, really. The odor of salt and iron and earth was so intense that he could taste it in the air.
"She really screwed the pooch on this one, so to speak," Bishop explained. "She doesn't need this on her employment record, and there's no reason she needs to remember the incident at all."
The Haitian stood as far from the hustle and bustle of the room as possible, his back against the cold metal of the door. He was surrounded by medical equipment, machines that beeped and ticked and spouted out records and measurements.
"There are two things I need you to do. Firstly, you need to suppress her power. If she were to damage or destroy all that medical equipment, well... that would be hard to cover up." Bishop paused for a moment, adding "And make sure she doesn't hurt herself, or anyone else," as an afterthought.
The bed was in the center of the room, where Bob Bishop's daughter sweated and strained. Her hair clung to her haggard face, and her eyes lacked their usual verve. But she was Daddy's girl, a tough one, trained to work through self-inflicted pain her entire life, and even as she groaned and sighed she refused to shed a tear or utter a word.
"More importantly, though, I want you to erase all of her memories about this. They'll only hurt her to think about them." Bob Bishop smiled crookedly, cheerlessly. "Start from the beginning of that first assignment, and take everything - everything - up to this point. Understand?"
The Haitian wondered if Elle had even registered his arrival; she certainly hadn't acknowledged it. Dr. Zimmerman had looked at him with an expression that spoke at once of confusion and familiarity; the Haitian had already removed so many of his memories that it was a wonder that the man was still able to perform his job at all. There was a nurse there as well; she was a plain-faced woman who held Elle's hand and stroked her face, feeding her ice cubes at irregular intervals, without any sort of recognition or appreciation from the patient.
"Erase their memories, too. Once Elle is out of danger, of course, but make sure you get it done."
A wail pierced the still, silent air; it was a boy. Elle retreated back into the pillows behind her as the infant was swept away to be cleaned and examined. "Can I see him?" she whispered; weary as she was, her voice retained its sing-song quality. "It's a boy, isn't it? I knew it all along." Her eyes regained their focus as she relaxed. Scanning the room lazily, looking for the child, she recognized the Haitian for the first time since he entered the room. Her expression turned from one of stoic accomplishment to one of horrific realization. "No," she told him, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. "Please, no... I don't want to forget him..."
If only you knew how far your father's cruelty extended, he thought as he moved to the side of the bed, gently cupping Elle's face in his palm, stroking her cheek with his thumb. It was a gesture he'd practiced on her many, many times before, starting when she was just eight and he, not much older. This was Elle as he knew her best - broken, exhausted, weeping, pushed to the very edge of human desperation.
"Please," she repeated, plaintive and pleading. "Please let me remember him."
"It's in her best interest, you know."
One at a time he took her memories from her, turning them over in his own mind, examining each of them carefully, the way a jeweler examines a diamond of endless value. He took in every detail, every minor aspect, and made it his own. If she couldn't remember, the least he could do would be to remember for her.
Characters/Pairings: implied Elle/Gabriel, The Haitian, Bob Bishop, Dr. Zimmerman, more in later chapters
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters
Word count: 718
Spoiler alert: definite spoilers later on for episode 3x08
Summary: It's in her best interest that she doesn't remember any of this...
Author's note: This story came out of speculation that the Noah Gray we saw four years into the future is older than four years old. While this is probably a case of kindergarten-style Dawson casting, I was inspired to come up with a way to explain it if he was older. Anyway, I expect this whole thing to get jossed in the next few new episodes. The timeline probably wouldn't work out for this anyway!
And also super-special thanks to aurilly for high-fives and hand-holding.
Angel with a Broken Watch
"It's in her best interest, you know."
The Haitian folded his hands before him, bowing his head, reflecting on the words of Bob Bishop. When he had gone into the office of the regional manager of Primatech Paper, he'd had no idea about the nature of this top-secret assignment. As it turned out, the nature of the assignment was intensely personal. The Haitian felt like an intruder in the small room - a cell, really. The odor of salt and iron and earth was so intense that he could taste it in the air.
"She really screwed the pooch on this one, so to speak," Bishop explained. "She doesn't need this on her employment record, and there's no reason she needs to remember the incident at all."
The Haitian stood as far from the hustle and bustle of the room as possible, his back against the cold metal of the door. He was surrounded by medical equipment, machines that beeped and ticked and spouted out records and measurements.
"There are two things I need you to do. Firstly, you need to suppress her power. If she were to damage or destroy all that medical equipment, well... that would be hard to cover up." Bishop paused for a moment, adding "And make sure she doesn't hurt herself, or anyone else," as an afterthought.
The bed was in the center of the room, where Bob Bishop's daughter sweated and strained. Her hair clung to her haggard face, and her eyes lacked their usual verve. But she was Daddy's girl, a tough one, trained to work through self-inflicted pain her entire life, and even as she groaned and sighed she refused to shed a tear or utter a word.
"More importantly, though, I want you to erase all of her memories about this. They'll only hurt her to think about them." Bob Bishop smiled crookedly, cheerlessly. "Start from the beginning of that first assignment, and take everything - everything - up to this point. Understand?"
The Haitian wondered if Elle had even registered his arrival; she certainly hadn't acknowledged it. Dr. Zimmerman had looked at him with an expression that spoke at once of confusion and familiarity; the Haitian had already removed so many of his memories that it was a wonder that the man was still able to perform his job at all. There was a nurse there as well; she was a plain-faced woman who held Elle's hand and stroked her face, feeding her ice cubes at irregular intervals, without any sort of recognition or appreciation from the patient.
"Erase their memories, too. Once Elle is out of danger, of course, but make sure you get it done."
A wail pierced the still, silent air; it was a boy. Elle retreated back into the pillows behind her as the infant was swept away to be cleaned and examined. "Can I see him?" she whispered; weary as she was, her voice retained its sing-song quality. "It's a boy, isn't it? I knew it all along." Her eyes regained their focus as she relaxed. Scanning the room lazily, looking for the child, she recognized the Haitian for the first time since he entered the room. Her expression turned from one of stoic accomplishment to one of horrific realization. "No," she told him, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. "Please, no... I don't want to forget him..."
If only you knew how far your father's cruelty extended, he thought as he moved to the side of the bed, gently cupping Elle's face in his palm, stroking her cheek with his thumb. It was a gesture he'd practiced on her many, many times before, starting when she was just eight and he, not much older. This was Elle as he knew her best - broken, exhausted, weeping, pushed to the very edge of human desperation.
"Please," she repeated, plaintive and pleading. "Please let me remember him."
"It's in her best interest, you know."
One at a time he took her memories from her, turning them over in his own mind, examining each of them carefully, the way a jeweler examines a diamond of endless value. He took in every detail, every minor aspect, and made it his own. If she couldn't remember, the least he could do would be to remember for her.
