Safe - Chapter 16
Characters: Peter/Claude-centric ensemble
Rating/Warnings: Hard PG-13, for implicit bloodshed and death
Word count: 600ish.
Spoilers: AU; at most, 1.10 ("Six Months Ago"), but not really.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words.
Summary: Holocaust-era Heroes
A/N: Short and sweet today; I didn't want to mix this with any other scenes. ( Previous chapters)
Special. It's what he wants.
The waitress bustles over, expectantly, and Gabriel ducks his head shyly. "The special, please." Pointing, almost childlike, to the menu.
"Ice-cream, sweetie? It's freezing outside, today!" She smiles at him indulgently.
He nods, eyes barely flickering contact from behind the thick glasses, absorbed in the corner of wooden tabletop peeking out from underneath the red-and-white cloth.
"Alright, then." Another smile, and she click-clacks away. He watches until her cinnamon chignon bobs out of sight into the kitchen.
You could be so much more. It's a sad, almost tender thought; he knows what it is to live life unfulfilled.
Everyone should have a purpose in life.
At length, she brings the ice-cream and waffles special, and he devours the syrupy dish eagerly. It's mid-morning, the breakfast rush long past but still an hour 'til lunchtime, and the cafe is deserted.
"There, now. How was it?"
Feeling bold, he looks up. A meek smile. "How many times have I been here for breakfast this month?" So important to be sure, because everything must be accounted for. A life lived as clockwork.
She doesn't disappoint. "November 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, 9th, 11th, 13th, 17th and 19th. So far." The answer comes quickly, reflexively, and the look on her face at this stream of information is almost one of surprise. "You won't mind if I ask why?" Dark eyes vivid.
He dabs at his mouth with the napkin. "It's important to get it right."
She nods, not really understanding, but his faith burns bright. You can be more. And she will be, he thinks. His act of kindness to her.
Gabriel Gray is a man whose life has, until now, been largely about disappointment. If he had a purpose, it was tiny, insignificant; he realises this now, sees the scale of his life unfold before him, wide avenues of possibility.
He stands quickly, intention written large across his face.
She steps back, surprised. He sees a hunted gazelle, breaking quickly left and right, but to no avail; twisting, turning, bucking away from danger. Grace in her flight and a terrible, strange beauty in her descent, brought to earth by nature. Red in tooth and claw, he thinks in a moment of clarity.
I can be more. I will be more. Euphoria that his existence is no longer bounded by tiny cogs, nor constrained by fine ticking and time's perfect, myopic circle. Hands too big for the clock-face, he thinks, dizzily.
He bends to smear a finger through the blood, and it mixes, salt and sweet, with the taste of ice-cream in his mouth. As he steps across her body, the thick brass lettering on the refrigerator catches his eye. Sylar.
He takes a spoon from the glass on the counter. Scoops some ice-cream from the refrigerator and walks right out of the cafe with it. There's no-one to stop him, and he feels a delicious thrill at doing something so trivial and yet verboten.
Red lips parted in terror; freckles bold against skin suddenly gone pale; the exhilarating rush of becoming. Crimson splashed bold against deep grey flagstones and cream enamel. Chequered cloths and dusty wine-bottles and the way the nut-brown doorstop sits askew beside the wall.
He remembers everything.
The man formerly known as Gabriel Gray stands on the Warmoesstraat, licking ice-cream off a spoon and watching his horizons expand before him. Wondering what to make of himself, who to be. Someone special.
Thousands of faces: among them, the means to make him more special still.
And all of them picked out in little stars. How thoughtful.
( Next chapter)
x-posted to
heroes_fic
Rating/Warnings: Hard PG-13, for implicit bloodshed and death
Word count: 600ish.
Spoilers: AU; at most, 1.10 ("Six Months Ago"), but not really.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words.
Summary: Holocaust-era Heroes
A/N: Short and sweet today; I didn't want to mix this with any other scenes. ( Previous chapters)
Special. It's what he wants.
The waitress bustles over, expectantly, and Gabriel ducks his head shyly. "The special, please." Pointing, almost childlike, to the menu.
"Ice-cream, sweetie? It's freezing outside, today!" She smiles at him indulgently.
He nods, eyes barely flickering contact from behind the thick glasses, absorbed in the corner of wooden tabletop peeking out from underneath the red-and-white cloth.
"Alright, then." Another smile, and she click-clacks away. He watches until her cinnamon chignon bobs out of sight into the kitchen.
You could be so much more. It's a sad, almost tender thought; he knows what it is to live life unfulfilled.
Everyone should have a purpose in life.
At length, she brings the ice-cream and waffles special, and he devours the syrupy dish eagerly. It's mid-morning, the breakfast rush long past but still an hour 'til lunchtime, and the cafe is deserted.
"There, now. How was it?"
Feeling bold, he looks up. A meek smile. "How many times have I been here for breakfast this month?" So important to be sure, because everything must be accounted for. A life lived as clockwork.
She doesn't disappoint. "November 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, 9th, 11th, 13th, 17th and 19th. So far." The answer comes quickly, reflexively, and the look on her face at this stream of information is almost one of surprise. "You won't mind if I ask why?" Dark eyes vivid.
He dabs at his mouth with the napkin. "It's important to get it right."
She nods, not really understanding, but his faith burns bright. You can be more. And she will be, he thinks. His act of kindness to her.
Gabriel Gray is a man whose life has, until now, been largely about disappointment. If he had a purpose, it was tiny, insignificant; he realises this now, sees the scale of his life unfold before him, wide avenues of possibility.
He stands quickly, intention written large across his face.
She steps back, surprised. He sees a hunted gazelle, breaking quickly left and right, but to no avail; twisting, turning, bucking away from danger. Grace in her flight and a terrible, strange beauty in her descent, brought to earth by nature. Red in tooth and claw, he thinks in a moment of clarity.
I can be more. I will be more. Euphoria that his existence is no longer bounded by tiny cogs, nor constrained by fine ticking and time's perfect, myopic circle. Hands too big for the clock-face, he thinks, dizzily.
He bends to smear a finger through the blood, and it mixes, salt and sweet, with the taste of ice-cream in his mouth. As he steps across her body, the thick brass lettering on the refrigerator catches his eye. Sylar.
He takes a spoon from the glass on the counter. Scoops some ice-cream from the refrigerator and walks right out of the cafe with it. There's no-one to stop him, and he feels a delicious thrill at doing something so trivial and yet verboten.
Red lips parted in terror; freckles bold against skin suddenly gone pale; the exhilarating rush of becoming. Crimson splashed bold against deep grey flagstones and cream enamel. Chequered cloths and dusty wine-bottles and the way the nut-brown doorstop sits askew beside the wall.
He remembers everything.
The man formerly known as Gabriel Gray stands on the Warmoesstraat, licking ice-cream off a spoon and watching his horizons expand before him. Wondering what to make of himself, who to be. Someone special.
Thousands of faces: among them, the means to make him more special still.
And all of them picked out in little stars. How thoughtful.
( Next chapter)
x-posted to
heroes_fic