Fic: Primatech 815 - Ch. 15
Title: Primatech 815
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes (Crossover with Lost)
Characters: Ando, Bennet, Claire, Claude, Hiro, Isaac, Peter, Matt, Micah, Mohinder, Niki, Simone, Sylar (more to come)
Rating: R
Summary: A plane crash unites a group of strangers.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or Lost.
Warnings: AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7| Chapter 8| Chapter 9| Chapter 10| Chapter 11| Chapter 12| Chapter 13| Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Claude sighed, running a hand through still damp hair. He had to admit life that on the island wasn't too bad. True, they were trapped there and most likely never going to be rescued and there was a monster pulling trees out of the ground running around in the jungle and their food supply rested on the whim of a man that Claude was fairly certain was mentally unstable. Yet things weren't horrible. After all, he got to sleep in everyday, there was nowhere to go and no one to tell him what to do and there was the nice beach front view that greeted him every morning.
He chuckled softly to himself as he pulled on the navy blue shirt he had found in the luggage in the fuselage. He was starting to sound like one of those goodie goodies down at the beach. Or the nurse at the caves. Just being on the same island as those people was starting to get to him.
The British man pushed those thoughts aside as he turned towards the jungle and walked towards his stash. He needed a smoke and his last pack was still in his stash. After the incident at the beach, he had decided it would be best to hide his things in the jungle to protect his belongings from the others.
A sound suddenly caught his ears, causing the English man to stop dead in his tracks. He frowned, stepping lightly as he approached the sound of plastic rustling. His scowl deepened when he saw one of the cave dwellers digging around in his stash.
"What exactly d'ya think you're doin', Scrappy?"
The young man jumped at the sound of Claude's voice, scrambling to turn around and face the man towering over him. It was then that the Brit realized that his thief was the painter who had spent the past few days wandering around the island with a glassy look in his eyes.
The young man swallowed hard as Claude popped his knuckles, preparing his hands to teach the child a lesson.
"This is gonna hurt," the lad whispered, "isn't it?"
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Claude hadn't pulled off this move in quite some time. He was getting old, he could feel it in his bones, and his back was already groaning in protest at the prospect of doing something like this with someone so hefty. Yet the British man ignored his body's warning as he slammed his fist one last time into the man's face, knocking him unconscious with a sickening thud.
The man hit the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Before his mind or his body could try to reason with him, Claude quickly grabbed the now limp body by his shirt collar, lifting him back on to his feet.
One... Two... Three!
With a loud grunt he lifted the man up off the ground and flung him with all of his might out the open window. The Brit groaned, thankful that his back had not given out as the sound of a body colliding with a parked car greeted his ears.
"Job well done," he said to himself, peeling off the nylon gloves that were now soaked with blood. He made sure to leave the suicide note that had been prepared for the situation on what had once been the dead man's coffee table before disappearing into the night.
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Mohinder hissed as Peter pressed the peroxide soaked gauze to the bloody spot at the back of his head. The nurse couldn't help but be amused by the fact that this was the second head injury he had treated Mohinder for. In fact, it looked like the new wound might have been made right on top of the other.
"So what happened?" he asked, putting pressure on his friend's injury.
"Can't you tell?" Mohinder snapped irritably. "I was attacked while trying to triangulate the Spanish signal."
Peter frowned curiously at the Indian's words. "Why would someone attack you?"
"I don't know," Mohinder sighed, "but they destroyed the equipment, so it must have been someone who didn't want me to find the source of the transmission."
"There you are!"
The two men jerked their heads upward and spotted Sylar marching towards them, a displeased look on his face. It was strange seeing the other man at the caves, but the nurse could tell he wasn't exactly there to gather water.
"Where the hell have you been?" Sylar snapped. "I've been out of my head worrying about you! I thought you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere!"
"I'm fine, Gabriel," Mohinder said, being sure to call the serial killer by his true name in case someone at the caves overheard them. "Go back to the beach."
A slight hint of pink began to color the nurse's cheeks at the two continued to bicker back and forth, drawing the attention of the nearby cave dwellers. Sylar was supposed to be keeping a low profile, yet whenever he was around he seemed determined to draw attention to himself. Peter gently pushed Mohinder's head forward to check if there was any injuries he didn't see, but that didn't stop the Indian man from glaring over at the murderer.
The fugitive was about to continue his rant when he noticed the bloody gauze Peter held in his hands. "You're hurt."
"It was nothing," Mohinder said simply, causing Peter to raise an eyebrow at his words.
"You're bleeding!" Sylar pointed out. "That's not 'nothing.' Someone attacked you in the jungle, didn't they? You could have been killed all because of a stupid science project."
"Once again, Gabriel, your concern is unnecessary, unwanted, and unappreciated," the geneticist snapped.
The fugitive flinched as if Mohinder had taken a swing at him. His expression darkened as he knelt down in front of Mohinder's bent form. "See if I ever help you again," he hissed before pulling away and stalking off towards the beach.
A chill ran down Peter's spine as he watched Sylar retreat into the jungle. "Do you think he did it?" he asked. "Do you think he could have attacked you?"
Mohinder sighed, pulling away from Peter’s careful hands to stand on his own two feet. "No, he was in the jungle when it happened. His bottle rocket went off less than a minute after mine. He wouldn't have had the time."
"Hey! We need some help over here!"
Peter's ears perked up when he heard Simone's worried voice approaching from the jungle. His eyes widened when he noticed that she was practically dragging a limp and bloody Isaac in his direction. Peter and Mohinder rushed to her side, taking the artist's barely conscious body off of her shoulders. The nurse winced at the sight of the other man. His face was cut up and swollen. Blood was pouring out from his nose and a large gash on his forehead. It was very clear from the size and pattern of the wounds that someone had beaten him.
"What the hell happened?" Mohinder asked, studying the artist with a troubled gaze.
"Claude," Isaac groaned, allowing the two men to lead him back towards the area of the caves that Peter now dedicated to mending and treating the other survivors.
"Claude did this?" Peter asked. He had to admit that he was a bit surprised. Claude was surly and mean, but he wasn't violent. At least, he didn't seem to be. "Why?"
"Because Simone has asthma."
Mohinder and Peter turned and gave the woman questioning stares. "You have asthma?" Mohinder repeated. "I've never seen you have an attack."
"I had an inhaler," she told him wearily. "I sneak hits when no one's looking."
"Why?" Peter asked, cracking open his bottle of peroxide and taking out a fresh set of gauze. At this rate, he was going to need another bottle if people kept attacking each other like this.
"Because there are forty seven of us trapped here on a deserted island," she snapped. "Wandering around breathing into an inhaler would just draw unnecessary attention to myself, attention that could be given to others."
The nurse nodded, dabbing at a nasty looking cut on Isaac's forehead with the cotton pad. The other man hissed and flinched away. "Well, what does this have to do with Claude?"
"My inhaler ran out a few days ago," she explained. "I always pack extras; four in my bag and four in Isaac's, in case one of us loses our luggage. But when I got my bag, the inhalers were gone. They weren't in Isaac's bag either."
"Then I saw that creep reading Watership Down on the beach," Isaac put in.
Mohinder blinked, not following Isaac's logic. "What?"
"It's Isaac's book," Simone clarified. "He had it in his bag. If Claude has it, then he went through our bags. He might have my inhalers."
"Well why didn't you just come to me and ask to get it back?" Peter asked.
Isaac bowed his head sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink underneath the blood sprayed on his face.
"Because Isaac wanted to be Mr. Macho and get it back himself," Simone mocked, tapping her boyfriend lightly on the head.
The nurse sighed wearily. It looked like he was going to have to head down to the beach and have a talk with Claude.
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'I don't like it here,' Hiro pouted, watching as the nurse tended to Isaac Mendez's injuries. He felt sorry for the poor man. This was the second time he had gotten beaten up in less than a week. It must have been embarrassing. 'There are too many people getting hurt.'
'Don't worry about it,' Ando shrugged, filling up a plastic bottle with water. 'We have the nurse. It's what he's here for.'
Hiro sighed. In truth, he really did not like the caves. It was creepy knowing that they were sleeping so close to the wild boar and monster. 'Can't we go back to the beach?'
'No way!' Ando said. 'It's safer here. Besides, the nurse is here. If one of us gets hurt, I don't want to walk all the way through the jungle just to get a bandage.'
Ando had a point about the nurse, but he couldn't see how things would be any safer than at the beach.
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"Where is it?"
Claude frowned, glancing up from the book that he had been reading to see the Poodle standing over him, a displeased look on his face. "Where's what?"
"Simone's medicine!" he barked.
"Oh. That." Claude shrugged, turning back to the novel and flipping a page idly. It figured that the nurse would come to see him just to help out some poor unfortunate soul back at the beach or the caves or where ever the hell he decided to set up shop.
His indifference only served to agitate the Pup further as he stomped his feet and crossed over to the British man's line of sight. "You beat up Isaac because he was trying to help his girlfriend," the nurse snapped.
"Shouldn't've been pokin' around in my stash," he told him, making sure his voice sounded as bored as possible.
Claude watched from the corner of his eyes as the Poodle stiffened in frustration, his hands curling into fists at his side. "Give me the medicine!" he demanded.
"What's in it for me?" he shot back.
The young man's jaw fell open in disbelief at his words. "You actually want me to give you something in exchange for helping a sick woman?"
"Fair deal, Pup," he told him. "I have it, you want it, so just make me an offer."
The Poodle sighed, slumping his shoulders in annoyance. "Well what do you want?" he asked, irritation clear in his tone as he crossed his arms over his flat chest.
Claude smiled, turning his attention towards the young man. He'd been waiting for this moment for some time now. "A kiss."
The Pup frowned, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "You want me to find someone to give you a kiss?"
The British man rolled his eyes at the boy's naiveté. How could someone possibly be so thick? "No, mate," he began, sitting up straighter so that he could look the boy in the eye. "I want a kiss from you."
He watched with a great deal of amusement as the Poodle's whole face turned bright red as understanding finally hit him. "You... y-you want a k-kiss from me?"
The Pup practically squeaked the words and Claude had to laugh at the priceless look of horror that now painted his features. "That's right, Poodle," he chuckled. "A kiss for the meds. What d'ya say?"
If it were possible, the boy's face actually managed to turn even redder as he cleared his throat and looked away. "I... I'm not that way."
The British man’s face turned serious as he stood up, towering over the young America who shifted uncomfortably, but did not back away. Claude had to give him a bit of credit for that. "Doesn't matter if you are or aren't," he told him. "It's what I want an' all ya have ta do is pucker up your lips an' then I'll gladly give ya the meds."
The Pup gazed up at him then, his clear brown eyes wide with uncertainty and fear and it just made Claude want that kiss even more. "I... I don't..." he stammered.
Claude smiled, raising his hand to cup the boy's cheek, but the Poodle merely turned and retreated to the safety of the jungle, practically sprinting to get away from him.
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"That was sloppy," his partner told him, a displeased tone clear on his thickly accented voice.
Claude turned and frowned at the Caribbean man. He hated being lectured, especially by people who were younger and less experienced than him. "Got the job done, didn't I?" he snapped as he placed a cigarette between his lips.
"Thompson will not be happy," the Haitian warned him, but he shrugged off his words. He had known his partner for nearly two years now, yet the other man had never told him his real name, no matter how many times he asked. Claude had decided a long time ago not to take advice from someone who wouldn't even tell you what to call them. "He wanted you to kill that man, but not get caught. If the police find as much as a hair-"
"They won't!" Claude cut in, lighting the tip of his cigarette with his match. "I've been in this business for twenty-three years mate! Don't cha think I know what I'm doin'?"
He was about to walk away, but the Haitian stopped him, grasping his upper arm in a vice like grip and freezing him in place. "I think you want to be caught," his partner snapped, glaring at him with distrust in his dark brown eyes. "If you want to leave this business that is fine! Just say so and go! We don't need you around to get the rest of us caught."
The British man scowled, pulling his arm roughly out of the other man's gasp. "It ain't that easy, mate."
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Bennet froze when he heard someone approaching from behind him. He placed the bottle of water in his backpack before turning around to greet the person coming towards him. He was surprised to see that it was the Indian man, Mohinder.
"Where were you yesterday around sunset?" Mohinder asked him, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Skinning a boar for dinner," he told him, flashing the other man a polite yet condescending smile. "I heard you were attacked yesterday. How's your head?"
The smaller man frowned at him, giving him a look that reminded Bennet very much of his ex-wife. "My attacker struck me from behind and smashed my equipment," Mohinder told him testily. "I'm just trying to figure out who did it and why."
Bennet stood, lifting his backpack onto his shoulders as he did so. "Well if you ask me, it'd have to be someone who would benefit from staying on the island. Didn't your friend, the one with the thick eyebrows, say something about wanting to stay?"
"I'm afraid he has an alibi," Mohinder sighed. From the way he spoke, Bennet would have bet money that the man wanted nothing more than to accuse Gabriel of the crime. "He was in the jungle when it happened. His bottle rocket when off soon after mine, a signal we worked out. He was more than two kilometers away. It would have been impossible for him to-"
"Not if he knew how to delay the fuse," he said pointedly.
He watched as the Indian man's brown eyes widened at his comment. Apparently he had not considered that possibility. "How would he know something like that?"
"Anyone who watches television would know something like that," he shrugged. "Just use a cigarette." Bennet smirked as he gripped the knife he had placed in the loop of his belt and handed it towards Mohinder. "Take this. In case there's a next time."
Mohinder's long brown fingers hesitantly wrapped themselves around the hilt of the knife just as Bennet turned and headed into the jungle.
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Hiro felt sick to his stomach as he watched the tanned young woman gasp and wheeze as she struggled through her asthma attack. His insides clenched as he recalled his older sister and her own struggles with the condition. Kimiko had always been mature for her age, but even the most serious minded child could make mistakes. On those rare occasions when an attack hit and his sibling was without her inhaler, her face would turn the ugliest shade of purple.
Sitting there watching that poor woman suffer brought all those awful memories flooding back to him. He could see from the corner of his eyes that even Ando looked uneasy as he tried his best to busy himself by focusing on gutting a fish he had caught earlier that day.
'That poor woman,' Hiro muttered, trying to force Ando's attention towards the situation at hand.
'She'll be fine,' the other man told him, although Hiro could tell that even Ando wasn't really convinced. 'The nurse is taking care of her.'
Hiro sighed as he watched the nurse dig around in his thick bag of medical supplies a confused and uncertain look on his face. The Asian man could tell that the American didn't have anything in there that could help her. 'I don't think he can,' he mumbled. It was then that he was hit with an idea. A way for him to be useful and help the asthmatic young woman.
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"Water delivery."
Claire jumped slightly, slipping the small notebook she had been writing in underneath a bag at her side. She looked up and saw Bennet's tall form standing over her with a bottle of fresh water in hand. "Thanks," she smiled, eagerly accepting the water bottle the man was offering her. "But, uh, what are you doing here? Isn't this Peter's job?"
"He's got his hands full at the caves," the middle aged man told her.
The teenager nodded thoughtfully, folding her legs under her to make room for the older man to sit down next to her. "Anything serious?" she asked.
"Nothing he can't handle," Bennet assured her, setting his backpack down before settling himself on the ground beside her. "So tell me, why are you still hanging out here on the beach? Don't you want to move into the caves where it's safe?"
She let out a soft laugh as she opened the bottle of water with her sand covered finger tips. "Yeah, real safe," she scoffed. "I'd just have to worry about the occasional cave in!"
Bennet chuckled, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Well, we took care of that," he said, a genuine smile lighting his features. "Checked out the rest of the caves. They're all stable."
The cheerleader smiled as she took a long gulp of water. "That's great and all, but I'm fine here. Besides, if rescue comes, I wanna be here."
"No body's going to get left behind, Claire," he smiled. "Besides... I worry about you. Out here all by yourself. It's so... sunny."
The girl laughed, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. "Yeah, but I like the sun," she beamed. "And I'm sure there's a hat around here somewhere that I can borrow."
"Well, sorry for worrying," he laughed, rolling his eyes at his own fussiness. "I guess it comes with old age."
"Old? Yeah right. What are you, like, forty?"
"Forty-four," he corrected. "Most fifteen year olds think that's ancient."
"Well I'm sixteen," she corrected pointedly. "Which makes me more mature and therefore perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
Bennet laughed, his eyes turning towards the shore line before glancing back at the teenager sitting next to him. Claire smiled, adjusting herself so that she was sitting with her legs tucked under her chin, hugging them to her chest. She liked Bennet. The older man seemed to embody everything she had always wished for in a father. "You shouldn't be here," he told her. "You should be in school worrying about midterms and looking for the right college to go to."
Her smile widened as she leaned over and bumped their shoulders together. "Thank you for saying 'college' and not 'boyfriend.'"
They sat like that for a while, listening to the others scramble along the beach, organizing their belongings or splashing around in the water. Unlike the last time they spoke, the silence wasn't tense or awkward. It felt natural.
"What can I do to get you off this beach?"
The girl tilted her head to the side, pretending to concentrate long and hard on his question, before turning and flashing him a mischievous smile. "Get me some peanut butter," she teased. "Then I'll pack my bags and move to the caves."
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes (Crossover with Lost)
Characters: Ando, Bennet, Claire, Claude, Hiro, Isaac, Peter, Matt, Micah, Mohinder, Niki, Simone, Sylar (more to come)
Rating: R
Summary: A plane crash unites a group of strangers.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or Lost.
Warnings: AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7| Chapter 8| Chapter 9| Chapter 10| Chapter 11| Chapter 12| Chapter 13| Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Claude sighed, running a hand through still damp hair. He had to admit life that on the island wasn't too bad. True, they were trapped there and most likely never going to be rescued and there was a monster pulling trees out of the ground running around in the jungle and their food supply rested on the whim of a man that Claude was fairly certain was mentally unstable. Yet things weren't horrible. After all, he got to sleep in everyday, there was nowhere to go and no one to tell him what to do and there was the nice beach front view that greeted him every morning.
He chuckled softly to himself as he pulled on the navy blue shirt he had found in the luggage in the fuselage. He was starting to sound like one of those goodie goodies down at the beach. Or the nurse at the caves. Just being on the same island as those people was starting to get to him.
The British man pushed those thoughts aside as he turned towards the jungle and walked towards his stash. He needed a smoke and his last pack was still in his stash. After the incident at the beach, he had decided it would be best to hide his things in the jungle to protect his belongings from the others.
A sound suddenly caught his ears, causing the English man to stop dead in his tracks. He frowned, stepping lightly as he approached the sound of plastic rustling. His scowl deepened when he saw one of the cave dwellers digging around in his stash.
"What exactly d'ya think you're doin', Scrappy?"
The young man jumped at the sound of Claude's voice, scrambling to turn around and face the man towering over him. It was then that the Brit realized that his thief was the painter who had spent the past few days wandering around the island with a glassy look in his eyes.
The young man swallowed hard as Claude popped his knuckles, preparing his hands to teach the child a lesson.
"This is gonna hurt," the lad whispered, "isn't it?"
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Claude hadn't pulled off this move in quite some time. He was getting old, he could feel it in his bones, and his back was already groaning in protest at the prospect of doing something like this with someone so hefty. Yet the British man ignored his body's warning as he slammed his fist one last time into the man's face, knocking him unconscious with a sickening thud.
The man hit the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Before his mind or his body could try to reason with him, Claude quickly grabbed the now limp body by his shirt collar, lifting him back on to his feet.
One... Two... Three!
With a loud grunt he lifted the man up off the ground and flung him with all of his might out the open window. The Brit groaned, thankful that his back had not given out as the sound of a body colliding with a parked car greeted his ears.
"Job well done," he said to himself, peeling off the nylon gloves that were now soaked with blood. He made sure to leave the suicide note that had been prepared for the situation on what had once been the dead man's coffee table before disappearing into the night.
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Mohinder hissed as Peter pressed the peroxide soaked gauze to the bloody spot at the back of his head. The nurse couldn't help but be amused by the fact that this was the second head injury he had treated Mohinder for. In fact, it looked like the new wound might have been made right on top of the other.
"So what happened?" he asked, putting pressure on his friend's injury.
"Can't you tell?" Mohinder snapped irritably. "I was attacked while trying to triangulate the Spanish signal."
Peter frowned curiously at the Indian's words. "Why would someone attack you?"
"I don't know," Mohinder sighed, "but they destroyed the equipment, so it must have been someone who didn't want me to find the source of the transmission."
"There you are!"
The two men jerked their heads upward and spotted Sylar marching towards them, a displeased look on his face. It was strange seeing the other man at the caves, but the nurse could tell he wasn't exactly there to gather water.
"Where the hell have you been?" Sylar snapped. "I've been out of my head worrying about you! I thought you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere!"
"I'm fine, Gabriel," Mohinder said, being sure to call the serial killer by his true name in case someone at the caves overheard them. "Go back to the beach."
A slight hint of pink began to color the nurse's cheeks at the two continued to bicker back and forth, drawing the attention of the nearby cave dwellers. Sylar was supposed to be keeping a low profile, yet whenever he was around he seemed determined to draw attention to himself. Peter gently pushed Mohinder's head forward to check if there was any injuries he didn't see, but that didn't stop the Indian man from glaring over at the murderer.
The fugitive was about to continue his rant when he noticed the bloody gauze Peter held in his hands. "You're hurt."
"It was nothing," Mohinder said simply, causing Peter to raise an eyebrow at his words.
"You're bleeding!" Sylar pointed out. "That's not 'nothing.' Someone attacked you in the jungle, didn't they? You could have been killed all because of a stupid science project."
"Once again, Gabriel, your concern is unnecessary, unwanted, and unappreciated," the geneticist snapped.
The fugitive flinched as if Mohinder had taken a swing at him. His expression darkened as he knelt down in front of Mohinder's bent form. "See if I ever help you again," he hissed before pulling away and stalking off towards the beach.
A chill ran down Peter's spine as he watched Sylar retreat into the jungle. "Do you think he did it?" he asked. "Do you think he could have attacked you?"
Mohinder sighed, pulling away from Peter’s careful hands to stand on his own two feet. "No, he was in the jungle when it happened. His bottle rocket went off less than a minute after mine. He wouldn't have had the time."
"Hey! We need some help over here!"
Peter's ears perked up when he heard Simone's worried voice approaching from the jungle. His eyes widened when he noticed that she was practically dragging a limp and bloody Isaac in his direction. Peter and Mohinder rushed to her side, taking the artist's barely conscious body off of her shoulders. The nurse winced at the sight of the other man. His face was cut up and swollen. Blood was pouring out from his nose and a large gash on his forehead. It was very clear from the size and pattern of the wounds that someone had beaten him.
"What the hell happened?" Mohinder asked, studying the artist with a troubled gaze.
"Claude," Isaac groaned, allowing the two men to lead him back towards the area of the caves that Peter now dedicated to mending and treating the other survivors.
"Claude did this?" Peter asked. He had to admit that he was a bit surprised. Claude was surly and mean, but he wasn't violent. At least, he didn't seem to be. "Why?"
"Because Simone has asthma."
Mohinder and Peter turned and gave the woman questioning stares. "You have asthma?" Mohinder repeated. "I've never seen you have an attack."
"I had an inhaler," she told him wearily. "I sneak hits when no one's looking."
"Why?" Peter asked, cracking open his bottle of peroxide and taking out a fresh set of gauze. At this rate, he was going to need another bottle if people kept attacking each other like this.
"Because there are forty seven of us trapped here on a deserted island," she snapped. "Wandering around breathing into an inhaler would just draw unnecessary attention to myself, attention that could be given to others."
The nurse nodded, dabbing at a nasty looking cut on Isaac's forehead with the cotton pad. The other man hissed and flinched away. "Well, what does this have to do with Claude?"
"My inhaler ran out a few days ago," she explained. "I always pack extras; four in my bag and four in Isaac's, in case one of us loses our luggage. But when I got my bag, the inhalers were gone. They weren't in Isaac's bag either."
"Then I saw that creep reading Watership Down on the beach," Isaac put in.
Mohinder blinked, not following Isaac's logic. "What?"
"It's Isaac's book," Simone clarified. "He had it in his bag. If Claude has it, then he went through our bags. He might have my inhalers."
"Well why didn't you just come to me and ask to get it back?" Peter asked.
Isaac bowed his head sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink underneath the blood sprayed on his face.
"Because Isaac wanted to be Mr. Macho and get it back himself," Simone mocked, tapping her boyfriend lightly on the head.
The nurse sighed wearily. It looked like he was going to have to head down to the beach and have a talk with Claude.
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'I don't like it here,' Hiro pouted, watching as the nurse tended to Isaac Mendez's injuries. He felt sorry for the poor man. This was the second time he had gotten beaten up in less than a week. It must have been embarrassing. 'There are too many people getting hurt.'
'Don't worry about it,' Ando shrugged, filling up a plastic bottle with water. 'We have the nurse. It's what he's here for.'
Hiro sighed. In truth, he really did not like the caves. It was creepy knowing that they were sleeping so close to the wild boar and monster. 'Can't we go back to the beach?'
'No way!' Ando said. 'It's safer here. Besides, the nurse is here. If one of us gets hurt, I don't want to walk all the way through the jungle just to get a bandage.'
Ando had a point about the nurse, but he couldn't see how things would be any safer than at the beach.
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"Where is it?"
Claude frowned, glancing up from the book that he had been reading to see the Poodle standing over him, a displeased look on his face. "Where's what?"
"Simone's medicine!" he barked.
"Oh. That." Claude shrugged, turning back to the novel and flipping a page idly. It figured that the nurse would come to see him just to help out some poor unfortunate soul back at the beach or the caves or where ever the hell he decided to set up shop.
His indifference only served to agitate the Pup further as he stomped his feet and crossed over to the British man's line of sight. "You beat up Isaac because he was trying to help his girlfriend," the nurse snapped.
"Shouldn't've been pokin' around in my stash," he told him, making sure his voice sounded as bored as possible.
Claude watched from the corner of his eyes as the Poodle stiffened in frustration, his hands curling into fists at his side. "Give me the medicine!" he demanded.
"What's in it for me?" he shot back.
The young man's jaw fell open in disbelief at his words. "You actually want me to give you something in exchange for helping a sick woman?"
"Fair deal, Pup," he told him. "I have it, you want it, so just make me an offer."
The Poodle sighed, slumping his shoulders in annoyance. "Well what do you want?" he asked, irritation clear in his tone as he crossed his arms over his flat chest.
Claude smiled, turning his attention towards the young man. He'd been waiting for this moment for some time now. "A kiss."
The Pup frowned, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "You want me to find someone to give you a kiss?"
The British man rolled his eyes at the boy's naiveté. How could someone possibly be so thick? "No, mate," he began, sitting up straighter so that he could look the boy in the eye. "I want a kiss from you."
He watched with a great deal of amusement as the Poodle's whole face turned bright red as understanding finally hit him. "You... y-you want a k-kiss from me?"
The Pup practically squeaked the words and Claude had to laugh at the priceless look of horror that now painted his features. "That's right, Poodle," he chuckled. "A kiss for the meds. What d'ya say?"
If it were possible, the boy's face actually managed to turn even redder as he cleared his throat and looked away. "I... I'm not that way."
The British man’s face turned serious as he stood up, towering over the young America who shifted uncomfortably, but did not back away. Claude had to give him a bit of credit for that. "Doesn't matter if you are or aren't," he told him. "It's what I want an' all ya have ta do is pucker up your lips an' then I'll gladly give ya the meds."
The Pup gazed up at him then, his clear brown eyes wide with uncertainty and fear and it just made Claude want that kiss even more. "I... I don't..." he stammered.
Claude smiled, raising his hand to cup the boy's cheek, but the Poodle merely turned and retreated to the safety of the jungle, practically sprinting to get away from him.
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"That was sloppy," his partner told him, a displeased tone clear on his thickly accented voice.
Claude turned and frowned at the Caribbean man. He hated being lectured, especially by people who were younger and less experienced than him. "Got the job done, didn't I?" he snapped as he placed a cigarette between his lips.
"Thompson will not be happy," the Haitian warned him, but he shrugged off his words. He had known his partner for nearly two years now, yet the other man had never told him his real name, no matter how many times he asked. Claude had decided a long time ago not to take advice from someone who wouldn't even tell you what to call them. "He wanted you to kill that man, but not get caught. If the police find as much as a hair-"
"They won't!" Claude cut in, lighting the tip of his cigarette with his match. "I've been in this business for twenty-three years mate! Don't cha think I know what I'm doin'?"
He was about to walk away, but the Haitian stopped him, grasping his upper arm in a vice like grip and freezing him in place. "I think you want to be caught," his partner snapped, glaring at him with distrust in his dark brown eyes. "If you want to leave this business that is fine! Just say so and go! We don't need you around to get the rest of us caught."
The British man scowled, pulling his arm roughly out of the other man's gasp. "It ain't that easy, mate."
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Bennet froze when he heard someone approaching from behind him. He placed the bottle of water in his backpack before turning around to greet the person coming towards him. He was surprised to see that it was the Indian man, Mohinder.
"Where were you yesterday around sunset?" Mohinder asked him, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Skinning a boar for dinner," he told him, flashing the other man a polite yet condescending smile. "I heard you were attacked yesterday. How's your head?"
The smaller man frowned at him, giving him a look that reminded Bennet very much of his ex-wife. "My attacker struck me from behind and smashed my equipment," Mohinder told him testily. "I'm just trying to figure out who did it and why."
Bennet stood, lifting his backpack onto his shoulders as he did so. "Well if you ask me, it'd have to be someone who would benefit from staying on the island. Didn't your friend, the one with the thick eyebrows, say something about wanting to stay?"
"I'm afraid he has an alibi," Mohinder sighed. From the way he spoke, Bennet would have bet money that the man wanted nothing more than to accuse Gabriel of the crime. "He was in the jungle when it happened. His bottle rocket when off soon after mine, a signal we worked out. He was more than two kilometers away. It would have been impossible for him to-"
"Not if he knew how to delay the fuse," he said pointedly.
He watched as the Indian man's brown eyes widened at his comment. Apparently he had not considered that possibility. "How would he know something like that?"
"Anyone who watches television would know something like that," he shrugged. "Just use a cigarette." Bennet smirked as he gripped the knife he had placed in the loop of his belt and handed it towards Mohinder. "Take this. In case there's a next time."
Mohinder's long brown fingers hesitantly wrapped themselves around the hilt of the knife just as Bennet turned and headed into the jungle.
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Hiro felt sick to his stomach as he watched the tanned young woman gasp and wheeze as she struggled through her asthma attack. His insides clenched as he recalled his older sister and her own struggles with the condition. Kimiko had always been mature for her age, but even the most serious minded child could make mistakes. On those rare occasions when an attack hit and his sibling was without her inhaler, her face would turn the ugliest shade of purple.
Sitting there watching that poor woman suffer brought all those awful memories flooding back to him. He could see from the corner of his eyes that even Ando looked uneasy as he tried his best to busy himself by focusing on gutting a fish he had caught earlier that day.
'That poor woman,' Hiro muttered, trying to force Ando's attention towards the situation at hand.
'She'll be fine,' the other man told him, although Hiro could tell that even Ando wasn't really convinced. 'The nurse is taking care of her.'
Hiro sighed as he watched the nurse dig around in his thick bag of medical supplies a confused and uncertain look on his face. The Asian man could tell that the American didn't have anything in there that could help her. 'I don't think he can,' he mumbled. It was then that he was hit with an idea. A way for him to be useful and help the asthmatic young woman.
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"Water delivery."
Claire jumped slightly, slipping the small notebook she had been writing in underneath a bag at her side. She looked up and saw Bennet's tall form standing over her with a bottle of fresh water in hand. "Thanks," she smiled, eagerly accepting the water bottle the man was offering her. "But, uh, what are you doing here? Isn't this Peter's job?"
"He's got his hands full at the caves," the middle aged man told her.
The teenager nodded thoughtfully, folding her legs under her to make room for the older man to sit down next to her. "Anything serious?" she asked.
"Nothing he can't handle," Bennet assured her, setting his backpack down before settling himself on the ground beside her. "So tell me, why are you still hanging out here on the beach? Don't you want to move into the caves where it's safe?"
She let out a soft laugh as she opened the bottle of water with her sand covered finger tips. "Yeah, real safe," she scoffed. "I'd just have to worry about the occasional cave in!"
Bennet chuckled, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Well, we took care of that," he said, a genuine smile lighting his features. "Checked out the rest of the caves. They're all stable."
The cheerleader smiled as she took a long gulp of water. "That's great and all, but I'm fine here. Besides, if rescue comes, I wanna be here."
"No body's going to get left behind, Claire," he smiled. "Besides... I worry about you. Out here all by yourself. It's so... sunny."
The girl laughed, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. "Yeah, but I like the sun," she beamed. "And I'm sure there's a hat around here somewhere that I can borrow."
"Well, sorry for worrying," he laughed, rolling his eyes at his own fussiness. "I guess it comes with old age."
"Old? Yeah right. What are you, like, forty?"
"Forty-four," he corrected. "Most fifteen year olds think that's ancient."
"Well I'm sixteen," she corrected pointedly. "Which makes me more mature and therefore perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
Bennet laughed, his eyes turning towards the shore line before glancing back at the teenager sitting next to him. Claire smiled, adjusting herself so that she was sitting with her legs tucked under her chin, hugging them to her chest. She liked Bennet. The older man seemed to embody everything she had always wished for in a father. "You shouldn't be here," he told her. "You should be in school worrying about midterms and looking for the right college to go to."
Her smile widened as she leaned over and bumped their shoulders together. "Thank you for saying 'college' and not 'boyfriend.'"
They sat like that for a while, listening to the others scramble along the beach, organizing their belongings or splashing around in the water. Unlike the last time they spoke, the silence wasn't tense or awkward. It felt natural.
"What can I do to get you off this beach?"
The girl tilted her head to the side, pretending to concentrate long and hard on his question, before turning and flashing him a mischievous smile. "Get me some peanut butter," she teased. "Then I'll pack my bags and move to the caves."