Fanfiction | Family Affair | CSI & Heroes | Chapter III
Title: Family Affair ~ Chapter 3/?
Author: frickangel
Fandoms: CSI/Heroes
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Micah lets Greg in on a secret. The Sanders family takes care of each other; no matter what.
Characters: Micah Sanders (Heroes) & Greg Sanders (CSI)
Pairings: None.
Timeline: Post ‘Post-Mortem’ for CSI, and after ‘Godsend’ for Heroes.
A/N: I made a freaking boo-boo in my previous chapter that isn’t canon. So I went back and fixed a couple of paragraphs. It doesn’t affect the story in any way, but I just changed it in order to stay true to the actual ‘Heroes’ plot.
Warning: Un-beta’d
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t know and don’t I wish.
Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
He couldn’t remember much from his high school days.
But then again, Greg was never awake long enough during class to recollect much. All he did recall were the few minutes he took to finish yesterday’s homework just before lessons started-everyday. Even when he was pulled out of public school and into the academy, it was still slow but at least more challenging.
Only a little.
Lifting his wrist up, he spied the watch he wore to take note of the time. Oddly enough the glass of the time piece had a crack right across it, concealing the minute and hour hands that were permanently stuck at 1:58. The exact moment one of the Piglets threw him a kick that Greg tried deflecting with his hand; though the end result was only his badly beaten body and this broken watch. He wore it now-and forever-as a reminder of how careful he should be in world that was unpredictable and cruel.
Looking at the kids come spilling out of the school’s doors and into freedom, Greg did suddenly feel a slight pang of regret for his lost youth. The only time he was ever into anything school-like was being captain of the chess club-only for a year, but still something he was involved in. Now seeing the kids running around and laughing, talking, not worrying about exams until the night before, actually having to take time to absorb things; fighting with others and rolling around on the field like a bunch of hyenas.
Wait.
Greg squinted through his sunglasses and shouted, “Micah!” Dashing from his Denali that was just parked outside by the curb, Greg was rushing towards the wrestling duo and tried breaking up the fight that his cousin’s son was obviously part of. He had hoped to force it to end before it attracted the attention of someone important, though unfortunately, it looked like it did.
“Micah Sanders and Joe Weber!” Greg only caught a blur of blonde hair mixed with red come running out and getting in between the students.
There were more grunts and yells from the fight and Greg dove a hand into the bundle of kids to pull someone-anyone-out. “Micah!” he yelled again as he dragged the young one out from the pile and glared. Looking at him, Greg shook his head at the patches of sand stains on Micah’s shirt and a small bruise already forming on his cheek.
“Enough, Joe!”
Greg took a moment to switch his attention from Micah to the woman who had tried saving the day as well. “I have had enough from the both of you!” The blonde continued reprimanding them, as she looked just as dishevelled as the children in her crumpled red shirt. She seemed to have realised it and roughly released Joe’s hand just to straighten her clothes and hair. From her age and the tone of voice, it doesn’t take a CSI to figure that she must be a teacher at least.
“Micah, I swear I will call your father this time,” she threatened.
“But he started it!” Micah pointed an accusing finger at his opponent.
“Because,” Joe sneered, “he knows his mom’s a psycho killer!”
If it wasn’t for the grip that Greg already had on him, Micah probably would be back on the ground with Joe somewhere in between. “Hey, hey!” Greg finally raised his voice and silenced them. “Micah, get in the car!” Greg pointed at his Denali not far away.
“But-” Micah began.
“Now!”
Once he was in the car and safely pouting in there, Greg turned back to the woman and the boy who was still reeling from the fight.
“I’m sorry, you are?” the blonde asked suspiciously, eyeing Greg’s sudden ability to order her misfit into submission.
“Micah’s…” Greg thought for awhile, “…uncle.” It was best he made their relation as close as possible. “I’m Greg Sanders.” Figuring that she could use some sort of proof that he wasn’t a paedophile, Greg retrieved his CSI badge from his pocket and flashed it at her. At times like these, he was glad he had transferred to active field duty or else a lab rat badge wouldn’t be as imposing or convincing.
She scrutinised the object before inspecting Greg but still frowned. Greg was wondering if her eyebrows will ever meet at the rate she was going. “I’m Mrs. Reynolds,” she nodded and then gestured at the brooding student by her side. “Joe’s and Micah’s science teacher.”
“Sorry about that, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“I’m going to have to contact Micah’s father. This isn’t the first or second time they’ve fought.”
Mentally rolling his eyes, Greg wondered if any kid wouldn’t be fighting like that if their mother got labelled a murderer. “I’ll let D.L. know about this. Please, you have to understand what’s going on.”
She shrugged and seemed to muse upon his words, “The next time this happens again-”
“I’ll personally dial the phone for you.”
Still staring at Greg, he figured she was waiting for him to turn into a pumpkin. Miraculously she turned away and grabbed Joe’s arm, berating him instead, “You, young man, will have your parents called by me!”
Not bothering to stay for the rest of the poor kid’s lecture, Greg turned and was startled by the large group of other students that have made a circle around the scene. Slowly, he mumbled excuses while manoeuvring through the sea of spectators before making a beeline for the car.
Slamming the door, Greg stared at Micah’s slouched body for a while before starting the vehicle in silence. Once the gear was into drive, he allowed the purr of the engine to take the place of the stillness that had settled. Along the way, he counted the number of mailboxes, hydrants, curbs, potholes, and lights; all the figures began tumbling itself into some statistical equation and then forming into a series of probabilities and patterns.
But that wasn’t important.
Brakes screeched slightly as he pulled the Denali over, just one more turn around the corner and they would’ve reached Micah’s home. The motor ran on as they both remained in their seats, staring at the empty road ahead.
“You saw mom, didn’t you?”
Greg turned at him wondering how he should reply to that. “Yeah…” he was surprised at how strained the answer was.
“Was she there?”
His body went into full attention at Micah’s cryptic question, “Who?”
“Jessica.” Micah swallowed hard and continued to stare intently at Greg,
The fight between calm and his frustration was turning into a losing battle for the former, and Greg allowed evidence of it through his voice, “There is no Jessica, Micah!” He slammed his palm into the Denali’s steering wheel, regretting immediately when the young boy jumped and pressed his back against the door. “Your mom’s sick and she’ll get help,” Greg added soothingly, trying to mend the damage he caused.
Easing away from the door, Micah laced his fingers together before making small cracking sounds with his knuckles. He looked down at his jeans, then up, left and right out the window before settling his sight on Greg.
“She’s special.”
He paused, not knowing what to say or even what Micah meant.
“Mom’s special, like Dad and I,” Micah continued.
Greg couldn’t help and be touched by Micah’s boyish innocence sometimes, especially when the kid was always more matured and grown up for his age, “I know, buddy.” The CSI reached out to place his hand on Micah’s head gently, just trying to understand him.
“No, I mean really special; like we could be heroes.”
It was a good thing Greg was wearing his sunglasses, or else the boy would’ve caught Greg’s involuntary cringe at something as stupid as that. He knew letting D.L. bestow all those comics to Micah was a bad idea. Next Christmas, he was going to give Micah a basic chemistry set instead, or better yet the whole Marilyn Manson CD collection; though the latter might be best kept for another five years when Micah was over the PG rating. “Micah… I don’t think that-”
“I’m serious, Greg!”
A psychologist he isn’t, but Greg figured this may be Micah’s coping mechanism. Trying to paint his family as a unique group of individuals, being persecuted for something meant for good. Just how could he tell Micah that this is reality and not fantasy? People don’t suddenly have powers like the X-Men or whatever. “Look, I know this is tough and adjusting is gonna take time with-”
“Mom’s got Jessica and I don’t know exactly what she can do, but she seems really strong while Dad can walk through walls and that’s how he got out of prison just like that! Even saw him put his hands through a window to save someone’s life.” By the time Micah was done giving the most preposterous synopsis of his family, he was out of air and breathing hard.
Greg’s lips were curved to a slight grin, suddenly amused by Micah’s imagination. So he humoured the boy and asked, “And what about you?”
“I can tell machines what to do. I just think about it and they do what I want them to.”
He had said it so simply like it was a fact of life, something that people can just read in the encyclopaedia or catch it on National Geographic. As much as he hated it, but Greg had to serve the youngster a dose of real life, “All right, Alice. It’s time to say goodbye to Wonderland and come home.”
“You don’t believe me.”
No surprise right there. Greg gave a non-committal shrug, trying not to say exactly what he thought of Micah’s stories. The little guy didn’t deserve to be torn down like that.
Originally, Greg had intended to shift the gear into drive and then send Micah the last stretch home, but that was thwarted by his fascination as Micah began searching all over the car for something. First he scanned the dash board, the glove compartment, and then he was on his knees and looking over the passenger seat into the back. Frowning at the lack of something, he started diving into his bag.
“Micah,” Greg reached out again, and squeezed his shoulder.
Flinching at the touch, his surprise turned into an over-enthusiastic smile as he glanced at the arm that held him still. In one swift move, Micah had turned the tables on Greg, snatching the older man’s hand into his as he inspected the broken watch. He laid three fingers on the piece and smiled.
“Come on, your imagination is only enough for one, I’m a little low on brain juice right now, buddy,” Greg announced as his gently pulled back his arm. Lifting it to inspect what Micah could’ve possibly done, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the same huge crack in the glass. It was the same crack that made it difficult for Greg to even concentrate on the moving seconds-hand, just as it passed over the longest needle, pushing it a minute further and then continuing its circle.
It was working.
Lips moved to form the words, ‘what-the-?’ but nothing came out, only shallow breaths at the miracle. Greg snapped his head up and stared at Micah, the extraordinary tales from him suddenly became seriously believable.
The curly-haired boy grinned back, looking exceedingly proud of his deed, “Jessica’s real, Greg,” he said and was slinging his colourful backpack over his shoulder. Fingers gripped the door’s latch and Micah pulled, opening it and giving him an opening into the outside world. He carefully slipped out of the large 4x4 and glanced back at an astounded Greg. “Mom doesn’t deserve to be in there and I know you know it,” with that he slammed the door shut and began walking away.
Breaking free from his shock, Greg opened his own door and called out, “Micah!”
“It’s okay, I’ll walk home, it’s just a few houses away,” he turned at Greg, only managing to get a few feet away. “Besides, you know how Dad gets worked up when you start butting in our lives. I think he’s going to perfect his art of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch today.”
Not fighting his reason, Greg allowed him to start his track home. He was right about D.L. being overprotective of his family-his territory-and it’s best he left them be for now. Sliding back into the driver’s seat, Greg still couldn’t help but stare at his now functional watch.
This couldn’t be real.
Attempting to clear his mind, he grabbed his cell phone and frowned at the flashing message; he had missed a call. Result of leaving it on silent and not being able to feel the vibration, happens especially when trying to break up fighting kids.
There was another message waiting for him-a voicemail. His fingers punched the numbers to access it, listening to the voice, and wondered what kind of sick game God was playing with him. Furiously thumbing the phone’s buttons to listen again, Greg’s confusion turned into fear as the voice spoke once more.
“Niki doesn’t need to die, Mr. Sanders. But only with your help.”
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TBC...