Fic: Mad World 3/8
Chapter 3
Three days had passed since Peter found his family again. Three long days of recuperation and frustration as he failed to corner Sylar anywhere in the halls of the Petrelli mansion. In fact, had Peter not been regularly speaking with Claude about everything he’d missed in the last five years, he might have suspected the killer of murdering his mentor for his ability.
He’d been nervous and jumpy that first twenty-four hours in the mansion. Convinced the FedMarshal’s had followed him to New York, were ready to storm the mansion any second and arrest his people. He’d woken from a nightmare of Claire and baby Noah in the compound that first night, sweaty and trembling at the possibility.
It had been Noah, the elder one, who’d realised Peter’s fear and explained that there really wasn’t any need. In the basement, now Mohinder’s research lab, laid an elderly woman with serene sleeping features.
“Nancy was with the Company for ten years. She is the only known occurrence of her talent we have ever seen.” Bennet explained with a fond expression.
“And what is that?” Peter asked, eyes professionally scanning Nancy’s monitors and the devices that kept her alive.
“Nancy can make people forget something existed by simply willing it to be so. She was a jewel thief when my predecessors discovered her and made her an agent. The entire building lasts no longer than two seconds in anyone’s memory. Nancy even learned to erase paper and electronic medium as well.” The former Company seemed quite proud of Nancy’s skill.
Relief tinged with concern, Peter wondered, “Why is she in a coma?”
“A battle with the Spider years ago left her like this. We suspect he has telepathy similar to Parkman and reduced Nancy to this while she was protecting the house. We can still come and go as we please, none of the residents are affected by her power. Even asleep she still keeps us safe.”
*****
Peter was more confident than ever that he needed to be on the mission to find this ‘Danko’ and the Spider who controlled him. Freeing Nancy was just one of the many reasons to end the tyranny they all lived under.
Still searching for a moment to try and talk Sylar into letting him join, Peter entered his father’s three car garage and watched a young woman beat the crap out of a punching bag.
No expensive vehicles now adorned this space; instead a fully-equipped gym and state of the art security and computer system. Beside a raised platform that served as a boxing ring a bank of massive flat-screen monitors played various movie fight scenes one after the other. From Bruce Lee to John Wayne with a touch of Tarantino, the endless images of physical violence were rather unsettling.
Even more so to Peter was the woman watching the monitors with rapt attention. Toeing off his shoes, Peter dropped a towel and bottle of water on a nearby chair and cautiously approached the ring. A scene of Bruce Lee leaping and kicking finished as the woman stretched carefully then turned and attacked the punching bag.
It took him a couple of minutes to realise she was duplicating the fight she had just watched. Exactly. Not just copying the moves, but perfectly replicating every form and turn like she had been the actor in question.
Watching the impressive display, Peter began to notice the fatal flaw in her otherwise powerful ability. If she allowed him to use it, he would have to work on…
“Hey there.” If her ability was wonderful, her smile was just gorgeous. “I’m Monica, you’re the new guy huh?”
Returning the smile, Peter approached the ring. “Peter.”
“Yeah, the famous baby brother who can get chemistry going with any other ‘special’ on the planet.”
Peter’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Sorry?”
But the sweet expression on Monica’s face had already darkened with embarrassment before the word was completed.
“I mean your power! Your power.” She blushed even harder if possible. “Mohinder says you have a chemical reaction to other people with powers and can copy their abilities, so it’s chemistry, but not…you know…chemistry…although you are really…umm…” Her words trailed away into nothing.
Peter regathered his thoughts and decided once again that he had no idea what went on in women’s mind’s most of time. Dragging the conversation to something he could understand, Peter gestured to the ring.
“You’re really good. Care to show me a few moves?”
The woman paled a little, but caught her composure and bounced back from the single rope surrounding the canvas square. “Sure, c’mon in.”
Warming up quickly, Peter stripped down to his sweat pants and t-shirt and relaxed his body. He was barefoot, as he had been on the first day his life had been ripped askew once again.
“You’ll be dead in a week if you don’t learn something quick. I’ll show you, but it’s not on me if you mess up and die anyway.”
They engaged cautiously at first, working out boundaries, getting comfortable being in each other’s personal space. Minutes went by as Peter slowly delved into the training he’d been given and showed its edge in this non-deadly environment. Back and forth, punch and kick. Few blows landed, mostly just sparring. When Monica was put to the mats, Peter helped her up. When Peter lost balance, she ducked back to give him a moment.
Body warming to the exercise Peter began to enjoy himself in a way he could never have last time he used these skills.
“They don’t want to kill you straight up, just get you on your knees or on your face in the ground, so use that. Be prepared to kill them and they’ll stop trying to catch you out.”
It happened rather quickly. The fight escalated from friendly sparring to an actual test of skills and then to something else. Maybe it was Monica realising his head wasn’t all there, maybe Peter regressed back to the compound, but suddenly the punches weren’t being pulled.
“Everything else I teach you means nothing if you don’t keep moving. Best way to win a fight is to not be there.”
Ducking a high kick, Peter dropped to scoop her legs out from under and caught a hard foot on the shoulder. He nearly broke her ankle, but Monica flipped backwards just in time and spun back for his exposed head. He ducked again and caught her wrist a glancing blow, then her sternum a not-so glancing one. Breathe ‘oofed’ from her lungs, but didn’t stop a punch that missed his jaw by less than an inch.
“You’re fast enough to keep away from those kinds of swings, it’s the ones who’re just as fast and stronger that’ll be the problem.”
The battle was now in earnest, back and forth with no quarter asked or given. This woman had the moves of a hundred fights programmed into her body, every move perfectly replicated down to the last detail. If this went on much longer Monica would probably snap Peter’s neck, her repertoire was just that massive. She’d eventually find a style that would win.
He had to use the flaw he’d seen when he’s first observed her. Peter was a good fighter, he’d had to be. But this was a ‘power’ Monica was using, it was next to impossible to defeat.
So…
Peter dropped out of the sequence they were exchanging and slipped to her left; she turned then shot out a kick to counter the feint. He wasn’t there. Every time Monica tried to complete a move, Peter did something unexpected, like dropping to the floor or turning a martial art punch into a boxing uppercut. It was almost cheating, but Peter knew if it worked it meant her power had a limit. She’d need to know that if she was on the mission. Peter wouldn’t kill her. FedMarshal’s weren’t so kind.
His shoulders hit the canvas mat after a particularly nasty strike, so Peter tumbled back and tried a semi-circle kick. As expected, Monica ducked. She didn’t really have a choice; her body was running this battle, not her mind.
Monica ducked right into Peter’s elbow.
He pulled the blow at the last second, if he hadn’t it would have shattered her cheekbone. Instead she’d have a spectacular bruise and Peter a guilty knot to add to the ones already twisting his soul up.
“Sorry.” He dropped to his knees beside her prone form and gently checked her head and neck for any other injuries. God, he’d hit her so hard.
“Its fine,” Monica panted, hand to her face, looking up at the lights above them. “That was awesome.”
A laugh bubbled up from Peter’s throat. She wasn’t angry, she was happy.
“I have never…never…had it so good.” Monica looked into his eyes and winked at her own innuendo. Intended this time.
Continuing to chuckle, Peter’s head startled up as the dark youth he knew as Micah, the techno-sweet-talker who had rigged up the entire system, reached Monica’s other side.
“Are you okay? Can you feel your feet?” The sudden angry glare he received stole Peter’s laugh away.
“Stop it,” Monica slapped her cousin’s leg lightly. “Peter just showed me my ass for the first time in years. You should thank him for taking my ego down a notch or two.”
“Years?” Peter asked quietly.
“Oh yes,” a dense velvet voice confirmed. Peter looked over to see Sylar, Claire and a half-dozen other of the sanctuary’s younger residents standing just outside the ring. Most of the teenagers were talking and noisily laughing, pretending to mock punch one another in imitation of Peter and Monica.
“She’s undefeated champion,” Sylar continued. “Till now.”
Peter stood and offered a hand to Monica who accepted, groaning.
“A power?” Sylar asked, his eyes knowing the answer.
“No.” Perversely pleased at the shock on his antagonists face, Peter smiled with what he was sure were bloodied lips. “Prison.”
Eyes locked with bitter chocolate ones, Peter didn’t notice the young man offering him his towel and water, till he felt a nudge at his side. Breaking that heated gaze, Peter thanked the no-longer sour faced Luke for the courtesy and received an excited smile in return.
“No one can believe you took Monica down. That rocked so hard. I though she was going to kill you man, and then wham! She’s eating the mats.” About to call the boy on his enthusiasm for seeing an ally defeated, Peter didn’t get the chance.
“Shut the fuck up Luke.” The woman warrior shot in a friendly tone, “you didn’t have the guts to get in here with me because you know I’d splatter you all over the place.” Peter didn’t miss the almost divine desire for this to occur displayed on Micah’s face. “Peter did and he won, but that doesn’t mean balls make you better. Asshole.” She finished with a sweet giggle just to top off the obscenity.
“Yeah, well Ethan says Peter was like a ninja-god in that compound, every one of the prisoners was scared shitless of him so that means balls are better than tits any…”
Peter interrupted the bizarrely crude and sexist argument with the truth. “I was taught by a woman Luke.”
Betrayed, the youth stared in shock. “Dude, no.”
“Obviously,” Monica gloated, before leaving the ring to commiseration from the assembled onlookers.
Peter looked up to find Sylar still watching him, Claire nowhere to be seen. Dark eyes rested on the youth almost vibrating with excitement beside Peter and once again became filled with anger.
He hadn’t even touched the kid and Sylar wanted to tear Peter’s fingers off.
Pissed off and running on adrenalin, Peter jumped down to the floor. He put as much of the predator as he could into his walk towards the other man. A hush fell over the teenagers.
“Take me on the mission to get the serum.”
But Peter had forgotten in the rush of battle just who he was stalking. Death met him halfway and looked over his flushed, sweat-dewed form with something like hunger in his eyes.
There was no greater predator in the entire world than Gabriel Gray.
“Again. No.”
*****
Peter sunk to the ground beside Claire on the tennis court where the children where playing an impromptu game of touch football. Noah was clambering back and forth into and out of his mother’s lap. Peter smiled at the lovely scene and thought of all the paintings and statues he’d seen of the Madonna, with child. Claire was hardly the divine mother, instead she was earthy and gorgeous and real.
“Tell me about Sylar.” It sounded like a command, but Peter knew Claire would understand his tone. Her green eyes looked at him without surprise.
“Gabriel,” the correction was clear but not judgemental. “Gabriel was nearly dead when Nathan and Hiro found him. Danko had been trying to persuade him to join the FedMarshal’s ‘special’ unit. Gabriel declined and was repeatedly punished for it. Danko would almost kill him in some horrific way and then force the serum anti-viral through his system until my power returned and he healed.” Despite how Sylar had acquired it, Claire’s lips were tight with loathing and sorrow at her own ability being abused in such a way.
“When we got him here with Monica and Luke, Gabriel healed again and then…” A pause while she visibly collected her thoughts. “…he handed himself over to us for judgement.”
“Judgement?” Peter repeated, mind racing.
“He asked that twelve of his peers, those with abilities, stand in judgement on his crimes and decide his fate. He admitted every one of his murders.” Another pause, this one caused Claire’s voice to become tinged with anger. “Thirty-two people.” God, Peter couldn’t even comprehend and he’d suffered the hunger that Sylar’s ability fuelled. Thirty-two?
“Thirty-three if you include me, thirty-four if we include you.” Her hand reached over to lace fingers with his. “Sylar was found guilty on all counts.” This time the emphasis on the name was deliberate. “We couldn’t decide on his punishment. Mohinder, Dad and I voted immediate death, yeah,” Claire corrected at Peter’s surprised look. “Sylar asked for Dad to be on the jury even without a power. The plan was to stake his head and then burn him on a pyre where no-one would ever look again.”
A gruesome sentence that Peter could completely understand, he’d have voted with them had he been on the jury.
“It was Angela who offered an alternative. She argued that we had all committed crimes because of our abilities and that Sylar was the least responsible as his power is what urged him to murder. He had no choice.”
Peter forcibly shut away memory of cutting open his brother’s skull because he was so desperate to understand…to know.
“Matt said he could put a block in Sylar’s mind so that the hunger was suppressed. He could be allowed to live, to help in the war to…”
“Make amends?” Peter offered.
Green eyes looked at him with approval. “Exactly. We objected but…it was the only humane thing to do. We didn’t really have the right to put him down like a mad dog, particularly as Matt had suggested a cure of sorts. The problem was Sylar…well Gabriel after the block went in and the killer was tamed. Gabriel didn’t want to live; he’d hoped we’d find him guilty and kill him. The block also added to his…pain.”
The sorrow and care in Claire’s tone surprised him, although really, baby Noah was evidence that the affection between Peter’s niece and her arch-enemy had changed dramatically.
“His personality hadn’t changed, you’ve seen that.” Claire’s lips twitched. “But without the hunger Gabriel’s urge to kill was gone and he’s actually a pretty amazing human being. When you get to know him. That human being didn’t want to keep living after what he’d done. He begged me…” Tears stood suddenly in Claire’s eyes. “He begged me to kill him, but I couldn’t…not now he was a person. Do you know he used to fix watches? No-one did. So…so I made myself the keeper of his tally. Sort of a parole officer. For every life Gabriel saves, I forgive him a death that he caused.”
A small proud smile rose onto her lovely face. “He’s closed the tally ten times over in the last three years, but it’ll never be enough I know. He can barely bring himself to speak to Molly; her presence insures Gabriel will be punished for his crimes until the day he dies. I’ll see to it myself, I promised him I would.”
For several minutes Peter processed everything he had just heard while they watched the children get more and more amped up on adrenaline.
“I think my mother may have been the more harsh a judge,” he offered thoughtfully. “It would have been much kinder to just put him out of his misery.”
“Yes, you’re right there. Angela wasn’t being kind that day, not at all.” Claire agreed, wise beyond her years.
“When did you two fall in love?” Peter asked as casually as someone who was desperately trying to be casual.
Claire seemed to choke on her tongue. “What?! We aren’t. Not at all. Why would you think….?”
Peter couldn’t help the incredulous look he threw at the child in her lap. Dark winged brows frowning close in intense concentration as Noah tried to unzip his mother’s boots.
“Noah, but he’s…oh yes well. I guess there is a resemblance…a little,” Claire, composure reacquired, looked thoughtfully down at her baby. “His father’s name is Alex. I helped him escape the FedMarshal’s during the war and he found me again after a year or so in hiding.” Her smile became decidedly naughty. “He’s in Canada right now helping with the underground we’ve set up and he’ll kick your ass for suggesting I did it with Gabriel. Although…” Claire look towards Peter was assessing. “...maybe not, but he’d try.”
“Sorry,” Peter apologised his thoughts in a whirl. If Sylar wasn’t the baby’s father and wasn’t with Claire then… “Noah just looks like you both.”
“Wait till you meet Alex,” Claire smiled. “He is very tall, dark hair with dark eyes and eyebrows. So yes, I can see where you might think Noah was Gabriel’s, but no. His attention has just about always been fixed elsewhere, it’s kinda cute actually.”
“Really?” Peter asked distractedly. His whole world view was completely upside down after this conversation. Sylar wasn’t really Sylar anymore? How weird and shattering that thought was. Because if Sylar wasn’t a psycho killer, wasn’t a bloodthirsty maniac that Peter was dedicated to stopping then…
If Gabriel Gray was the man everyone in the mansion thought he was then Peter needed to be very, very careful indeed.
That kind of man was more dangerous to Peter than a hundred Sylars.