Fic: Primatech 815 - Ch. 22
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
Author's Note: No, this story isn't dead. I'm just incredibly lazy.
Previous Chapters
Chapter 22
"Red shirt," Isaac grumbled darkly as he tied off a piece of red fabric to a low hanging branch.
Bennet turned towards him skeptically. "What?"
"Red shirt," he repeated, but when he got no reaction from the other man, he continued. "Have you ever seen Star Trek?"
"No."
Isaac paused for a moment, taken aback by the fact that the older man had never seen the series or had any familiarity with the reference, before gathering his thoughts and continuing. "The crew members that would go down to the planet with the main characters," he explained, "the Captain and the guy with the pointy ears, they always wore red shirts and they always got killed."
"Sounds like a piss poor Captain," Bennet said indifferently before continuing on his way as if Isaac weren't even there.
The painter didn't pretend to understand what was going on. He didn't know what Bennet's relationship with Claire was about, or Claire's relationship with Peter for that matter, and he was trying not to think about the fact that his girlfriend was currently wandering through a monster and polar bear infested jungle with a man who had romantic feelings for her, hunting a dangerous kidnapper. Yet it was hard to figure things out or put troubling thoughts out of his mind when he himself was wandering through a monster and polar bear infested jungle with a stoic loner who, a few days ago, had taken his drugs and forced him into a very primitive form of rehab.
It was because of all of these things that the Hispanic man kept talking when it was very obvious that he should just shut up and follow Bennet's lead. "So what do you do in the real world, Mr. Bennet?"
"Take a guess," the middle aged man grumbled, keeping his eyes trained towards the ground. Isaac couldn't tell if they were lost or on the right track and a part of him was too worried to bother asking.
"Well, you're either a taxidermist or a hit man," he said dryly.
Bennet let out a bitter laugh, a clear indication that he had missed his guess by a mile. "I was a regional collections supervisor for a paper company."
Isaac blanched, stopping dead in his tracks as he took in the other man's words. "A p-paper company?" That was a joke. It had to be a joke, because there was no way that he was being lead around a monster and polar bear infested jungle with a middle management paper sales man.
The man in the horn rimmed glasses halted, turning to give Isaac a tight lipped smile, a smile that said that he wished he was just kidding. "We sold paper."
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"Hey!" Simone panted, quickening her steps in an attempt to catch up with the young nurse who was practically sprinting through the jungle. "Could you slow down for a sec?"
"You said they went this way!" Peter shouted back from over his shoulder, but he showed no signs of slowing down.
"I said I think they went this way," Simone clarified, stumbling over an exposed root and almost falling on her face. Maybe she would have been better off had she gone with Isaac or Bennet. "I'm not as good at this as Bennet."
Peter huffed, stopping for just a moment so that she could catch up with him, before continuing to march ahead, driven by worry and stubbornness. "So where'd you pick up those tracking skills?"
The young woman frowned, not liking the bitterness in Peter's tone. "Excuse me?"
"You don't talk about yourself," Peter said, hurt and anger faint in his words, but they were there. "All I know about you is that you're Isaac's girlfriend and you have asthma. We've been living on this island for two weeks now. Seems like long enough for you to say something as important as you know how to hunt."
Her frown deepened as she grabbed the young man by his arm, stopping him and forcing his gaze to meet hers. "My dad used to take me hunting as a kid," she grumbled, digging her nails tightly into his arm. "We'd hunt small game mostly, sometimes bigger game when it was in season. Sometimes we'd spend days in the woods together tracking deer. I grew up rich, but my dad didn't. Hunting was his way of getting back to his roots."
An awkward silence fell on the two and after a few minutes passed, Simone loosened her grip on Peter's arm. "My history is my own, Peter," she told him sternly. "If I don't talk about my past, then maybe I don't want to. You never told me why you were in Australia and I accept that. I'm not going to be bullied into spilling out information about myself. You want to know more about me, then you damn well better ask me properly next time."
With that said, the tanned woman walked past the nurse, bumping his shoulder roughly against her side as she tried her best to pick up the trail.
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"Tracy? Who the hell is Tracy!"
Angela's dark brown eyes flickered towards Peter's confused face for just a moment before returning to her plate. "The woman Nathan's having an affair with," she answered casually.
"I didn't catch him with Tracy," Peter practically seethed. "I saw him with Elizabeth. His secretary?"
"Oh."
It was then that the nurse's jaw practically hit the floor. Oh? That was all his mother had to say about this? Oh? His mind was reeling and his fists were balled so tightly that he felt certain there'd be little half moon punctures on his palms. He'd always known his mother to be aloof, the type of person not easily startled or caught off guard by any type of news, but he'd expected more than this from her. "Mom, your son, your married, politician son, is having an affair with multiple women, and you don't care?"
"As long as it doesn't affect his work..." she said, the rest of her words fading away as if they weren't important any more.
"Doesn't affect his work?" Peter laughed bitterly at the woman's words. "He's sleeping with his secretary, Mom! How can that not effect his work?"
Angela didn't frown, she didn't stiffen, she barely even moved. She merely calmly put her fork down and stared at her son, her expression weary and chiding, an expression that he was far too familiar with. "Peter, why does this upset you so much?"
The nurse sighed, rolling his eyes at his mother's question. He was starting to get the feeling that he was the only reasonable member of his family. "Because it's wrong!" he blurted out. "Because he's a senator and he should be doing better things with his time than cheating on his wife! And what about Heidi? Or Monty? Or Simon?"
"They don't know," Angela said simply. "They don't need to know."
"Yes they do," he told her, his words firm and confident. "They're going to be effected by this."
"Exactly," she clipped; her words and her eyes ice cold. "They can't know. No one can know about this. Can you imagine what this sort of thing would do to your brother's career? If this story got out it would ruin him! No one can know that your brother cheated on his wife, especially with her condition."
Peter felt his heart constrict at his mother's words. "I have to tell her," he whispered. "Heidi's my friend... she's like a sister to me. I can't..."
"Peter." The nurse flinched as his mother reached across the table and grasped his tense hand in her cold fingers. "Please. If you care about your brother at all, you will keep quiet."
The young man sighed as he weighed his options. He cared about Heidi deeply, she was like family to him, and since her accident they'd only become closer. Yet Nathan was his brother, his blood. If he told Heidi about this, there was no doubt in his mind that she'd leave Nathan. His brother would find out and never speak to him again.
He had to fight the urge to cry as he gave his mother a short nod.
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The fugitive felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders as he stared down at Mohinder's unconscious body. They were alone -- Mohinder had been placed in a secluded area of the caves where most of Peter's medical supplies were hidden -- and Sylar suddenly wanted...
His heart hammered as all the things his body longed to do swirled around in his brain. He wanted to cry. He wanted to fall to his knees and thank God that Mohinder was back and alive. He wanted to gather the man's unconscious body in his arms and kiss him senseless. He wanted to beg him to never leave his side again.
Sylar held his breath as he crouched down next to Mohinder's sleeping form, studying him carefully. He looked awful. The Indian was covered in bruises and tiny scrapes. His skin was dripping with sweat and his breathing seemed shallow and labored. Yet it was the sloppily mended wound on his leg that drew Sylar's attention. It figured that the nurse would choose to go on a wild goose chase through the jungle instead of tending to someone at the camp who was in need.
The fugitive clucked his tongue softly, as he wrapped a supportive arm around Mohinder's shoulder, shifting the unconscious Indian's weight so that they were pressed together, Mohinder's dark head resting on Sylar's pale shoulder. The geneticist moaned softly, his eye lids fluttering slightly as his mind drifted back into the waking world.
"Shhh," Sylar whispered gently, brushing a stray curl out of the man's face. "Go back to sleep."
His words seemed to have the opposite of their intended effect as Mohinder's body tensed and his eyes slowly slid open, looking around sleepily. "Where am I?" the Indian whispered, his voice hoarse and faint.
"You're safe," he assured him, making sure to keep his tone calm and soothing. "You're back at the caves."
"Peter?"
"He's out in the jungle. He'll be back eventually." He paused, adjusting himself so that he wasn't resting his weight so heavily on his foot. "Do you want anything? Water, maybe?"
Mohinder looked at him, his eyes focusing on his face for just a second, before slipping shut in quiet irritation. "I'd like for you to get away from me," he groaned.
Sylar chuckled, but didn't move. He was enjoying the feeling of their sweat coated bodies pressed together and he wasn't going to let Mohinder's attitude spoil their reunion. He had to savor this moment. "What happened to you out there?" he asked, indicating the man's injured leg. "You look awful."
"I was taken prisoner," he explained wearily, "by the Spanish woman."
The fugitive felt his ears perk up at the geneticist's words. "The Spanish woman from the eight year old distress signal that we picked up? She's still alive?"
Mohinder nodded weakly. "She was part of a science expedition," he explained. "She said her ship wrecked."
"Was she alone?"
Mohinder was silent for a moment, adjusting himself and trying to wiggle out of Sylar's grasp, but the serial killer wouldn't let him go. "She said that there were others on the island."
Sylar stiffened. He had only been mildly interested in their conversation, but that piece of information changed things drastically. "Are they her people?" he asked. "Part of her team?"
"No," the Indian sighed. "She was under the impression that her entire team was 'sick'... she murdered them."
The American felt his grip on the other man's body tighten. He suddenly wanted to kill Matt Parkman and Peter Petrelli. If those two had only allowed him to go after Mohinder, the Indian would not have needed to deal with a woman who was clearly not playing with a full deck.
He startled as he felt Mohinder's body start to go limp against him. It was then that he remembered what Micah had told him. That Claire had been kidnapped by a woman who was posing as one of them. And now Mohinder was saying that the Spanish woman told him that the island had other people on it. "But these other people," he continued, squeezing Mohinder's shoulder in order to keep him awake. He'd let the other man rest, after he got all the information he needed. "Who are they?"
"I don't know," he told him, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly. "She's never seen them."
"But she knows they're out there?"
Mohinder frowned, craning his neck upwards so that he was looking Sylar in the eye. "Do you believe her?"
"A girl was kidnapped," he told him. "Claire... They said she was taken by someone pretending to be one of us."
The Indian's eyes widened as he sat up, pushing Sylar's possessive arms away from him forcefully. "When did-"
"Not long ago, I think," Sylar cut in, reaching out to pull Mohinder back into his embrace, but the other man stubbornly refused. "Peter and some others are looking for her." He paused, noticing the suspicious look in Mohinder's eyes. "I wasn't here when it happened. I'm not a kidnapper."
"No, you're just a good natured serial killer," Mohinder grumbled, rolling his eyes at Sylar's lame excuse.
"You don't believe me?" the American asked, although he was barely paying attention to his own words. He was far too distracted by the ugly purple bruise on Mohinder's forehead.
"I believe you," he sighed. The fugitive knew that a part of Mohinder actually wished that Sylar had played a hand in this situation just so he would have another excuse to hate him. "If you had done it, you wouldn't be here. And in the jungle, I heard..." Mohinder's words faded away, as if he regretted what he was saying, what he was thinking.
"What?" he asked, placing a concerned hand on Mohinder's shoulder. "What did you hear?"
Yet the Indian still said nothing. He shook his head, as if to erase the train of thought from his mind, before turning his irate brown eyes towards Sylar. "Do you have something to say to me?" he snapped. "Or are you going to simply ask me questions I don't have answers to."
Sylar smiled. In spite of the man's sour mood and hateful stare, he still missed him. During the short time they had spent living together on the island, he'd actually gotten used to having the geneticist around. He was frustrating and difficult, a puzzle that Sylar needed to complete and a presence that he couldn't live without. He wasn't going to let Mohinder out of his sight ever again.
"The tide's coming up the beach," he told him evenly. "The hull's almost completely underwater."
Mohinder sighed, closing his eyes and lowering himself back onto the ground. "It's good to be back," he grumbled sarcastically.
Sylar laughed.
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Isaac grunted, wiping the sweat off his brow wearily, as his tired legs continued on the rocky uneven path that Bennet was leading him along. It hadn’t been that long since they had parted ways with Simone and Peter, but the painter was starting to worry that they were lost. Bennet wasn't saying anything, his entire being was too busy being focused on the task at hand, and the longer they walked the more unfamiliar their surroundings began to look to him.
"It's been almost fifteen minutes since we've seen any kind of sign," Isaac said. "What are we following?"
"My gut," Bennet answered simply, his words gruff and distracted.
The Hispanic artist scowled at the middle aged man's tone. He knew he should be grateful to him -- after all, Bennet had been the one to force him to take the final step and kick his heroin addiction -- and he knew he should be patient -- Bennet was looking for Claire, a frightened sixteen year old girl who had done nothing but try her best to help everyone on the island since they had crashed here -- but he was sick and tired and worried about his girlfriend. Those three things made it nearly impossible for him to just hold his tongue as they wandered blindly through the jungle.
"I think we should head back," he said finally. "Peter and Simone could have found something by now, or maybe even Matt's group. If nothing else-"
"Alright, Isaac. Go back to the camp."
The young man stiffened, stopping dead in his tracks as Bennet continued on his way. He hadn't been expecting that. He had been expecting the other man to put up some sort of fight, to argue and yell before finally seeing reason and relenting. Instead he was turning him away, brushing him off as if he were no good, of no use. "What?"
"It's going to start raining soon," Bennet commented, finally coming to a halt so he could turn and look Isaac in the eye. "In a minute, give or take. The trail's been cold for about a quarter mile and the terrain ahead is pretty dangerous. If you head back now, you'll probably make it to the caves before dark."
Isaac frowned, quirking a skeptic eyebrow at the other man. "What about you?"
"I'll be fine," he said, flashing the younger man a condescending smile. "I can take care of myself. If you need to go back-"
"If you're going, I'm going." There was no room for argument in his words. He hadn't given up drugs just to be told that he still wasn't good enough, that he still couldn't contribute.
Bennet's smile softened. He gave him a quick nod then continued on. It was at that exact moment that the sky opened up and rain began pouring down in buckets. Isaac stood there, stunned and wondering just how the older man had known it would rain.
“They teach you how to predict the weather in a ‘paper company?”
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Peter tried not to think about the pouring rain or the dread gripping his heart or the fact that both he and Simone were tired and frustrated as he continued on what he assumed was the correct path. It didn't take long before they found themselves in a heavily forested part of the jungle. The tall trees did nothing to help keep the rain out of their eyes and it only served to dim the lights and make their search that much harder. It was because of their surroundings and how long they'd been searching with absolutely no signs that Peter was startled when his eyes landed on a second, golden "C" lying on the ground.
A smile tugged at his lips as he jugged towards the fallen earring, bending down to study it carefully. "I guess we were right," he shouted, trying his best to outdo the roar of the pouring rain. "Which way?"
Simone frowned, studying the ground carefully for some sort of clue. She shrugged her shoulders and opened her mouth to say something, but the words never left her. Instead, she was interrupted by an eerie sound from somewhere deep in the jungle. At first, he had thought it had been nothing more than a group of birds scattering and cawing at each other, but then he heard it. A scream. A too familiar scream.
Without a second thought, he was up and running, heading towards what he felt certain was the source of the noise.
"Peter?" he heard Simone cry, confusion and worry coloring her words. "Peter where are you going?"
"Didn't you hear that?" he asked, not bothering to slow down or even turn to make sure she was still following him. His heart was pounding, his mind was reeling, and he felt deep in his gut that they were close, so close to finding her.
"Hear what?"
"Claire!" Peter shouted. "It was Claire!"
The howling wind and rain drowned out Simone's words (although Peter wasn't even sure if she had said anything) as they approached a steep hill that was covered in twisted vines and roots. If Peter had been in a less frantic state, he would have realized that the rain and dark would only make climbing up the hill that much harder, but he couldn't stop. He was scaling the surface before he could even register what was happening. A soft grunt alerted him to the fact that Simone was, literally, right at his heels.
Peter huffed, just making it to the top of the hill when his hands and feet met only slick mud. It was quick, but it was just enough for him to lose his balance and tumble towards the ground. His world went white for a moment as he landed flat on his side. His head buzzed and his lungs burned as he scrambled back to his feet. It was only then that he noticed that he wasn't alone.
She was dripping wet and shrouded mostly in shadows, yet somehow he knew, just knew, that it was Candice standing in front of him.
"Hey Pete," she greeted casually, before kicking him square in the jaw and sending him flying onto his back. He grunted, all the air leaving his lungs in an instant. Yet in spite of the fact that he was already down, Candice didn't let up. She came up to put her foot on his chest, and pressed down, crushing his sternum and making him gasp for air. He couldn't help but think how ironic it was that he had been in this same position before. Only then it was Sylar stomping on him and Mohinder had been there to stop the other man from taking things too far. Now it was just him and Candice. "If you don't stop following me, I'll kill her. Do you understand?"
He knew she was bluffing. She wouldn't have gone to all this trouble to kidnap Claire only to kill her. It was with that thought in his head that Peter reached out and grabbed Candice's leg, pushing it off his chest with surprising ease.
The woman stumbled backwards. It was just enough of a distraction for Peter to get to his feet and take a swing at her. Yet Candice had already recovered herself and easily dodged his attack. He took another swing, but it went wide and he only connected with air. Candice gave a frustrated grunt before slamming her fist into his cheek. Peter stumbled just as she gave him a right hook directly into his gut. He huffed, doubling over as the woman delivered yet another kick to his jaw.
"No more warnings!" she growled, kicking him one last time before his world faded into darkness.
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"Oh hey, Pete," Heidi greeted cheerfully. "What brings you here?"
Peter smiled down at his sister-in-law as she wheeled herself over to him. He bent down and wrapped her in a warm embrace, but the woman's usual enthusiasm and warmth wasn't quite there.
The accident had been so long ago, but it was still strange seeing her like this. Heidi had always been so beautiful, vibrant and lively, but after the crash she shrank into herself, a shell of misery and despair. Months of agonizing physical therapy later had resulted in her regaining most of her confidence, her former self slowly reemerging, but it wasn't quite back yet.
"I'm kinda here to see Nathan," Peter explained, pulling away from her.
An apologetic looks spread across her pale features as she moved aside, allowing Peter further entry into the mansion. "I'm afraid he's not here," she explained. "He went somewhere with his advisor... or aid -- I can't remember which -- I just remember that she's a blonde woman... Tracy I think."
The nurse paled, that name ringing a far too familiar bell. His stomach twisted with anger. Nathan was being far too casual with his affairs. Sleeping around -- with members of his own staff no less -- and not even bothering to keep the identities of his mistresses a secret.
"Can I get you anything, Pete?" she offered, wheeling herself towards the kitchen.
"Heidi," he began, effectively stopping her in her tracks. His throat tightened and his limbs suddenly felt so heavy under the weight of what he was about to say, but it had to be done. The truth must come out and if Nathan wouldn't do the right thing, then he would.
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"Peter! Peter! Wake up!"
The nurse groaned as his mind slowly drifted back into the waking world. He was cold and sore and dripping wet. Looking around, he could see that it was still raining and that he was lying on his back in what felt like mud as Simone gazed down at him, her light eyes filled with worry.
"How long was I out?" he asked, carefully lifting himself up even though he knew that it was a bad idea.
"I don't know," Simone told him. "You slid on the rocks and-"
"Candice," he blurted out as the memories slowly floated back to him. -
"What?"
"Candice was here," he told her.
Simone frowned, gripping his arms tightly in her thin hands as if she were afraid that he would run off again. It was a reasonable assumption since that was exactly what his body was telling him to do. "Peter, you banged your head on some rocks-"
"She was here Simone!" he snapped, brushing her hands off of him.
"Peter, listen to me!" she began forcefully. "The rain washed away the trail. Even if Candice was here there'd be no way to follow her."
"No," he frowned, shaking his head harshly. He couldn't give up. He couldn't abandon Claire like this. "We have to keep looking."
"Peter, please. You're hurt. It's getting dark. We will find Claire, but not tonight."
His heart felt like it was on fire and his throat tightened as he thought about the blonde teenager; somewhere out in the jungle, frightened out of her mind. He knew what Simone was saying was right, but the idea of giving up and going home made him feel sick inside. Yet as Simone began pulling him to his feet and guiding him back towards the camp, he actually found himself following her.
He would find Claire. Just not tonight.
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"Mom!"
Niki smiled as Micah ran towards her, wrapping his thin arms around her in a tight hug. It was a gesture that she still wasn't completely used to, but was more than happy to welcome. "Hey, baby," she beamed, returning the hug gratefully.
"Peter and Simone just got back too," he told her.
She frowned, looking around the camp in search of the missing girl they had all been looking for. "Did they find Claire?"
Micah's expression grew solemn as he shook his head in response. "Mr. Bennet and Isaac haven't come back yet either."
The blonde woman felt her frown deepen at her son's words. A part of her wanted to stay optimistic and believe that the two men had found Claire and were bringing her back now, but the logical voice in her heard told her that it wasn't likely.
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"Are we lost?" Isaac asked, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering as he spoke. He was cold and wet and his feet were killing him. He should have turned around when Bennet had told him to.
"No, we're not lost," the paper salesman assured him confidently.
Isaac frowned. At this point, the older man had no right to be confident. He couldn't tell if it was stubbornness or insanity that kept the man from admitting that he didn't have a clue what he was doing, but he didn't care. He was following a paper salesman around the jungle in the middle of the night.
"I don't see how you can still be following the trail," Isaac said pointedly. "I think we should really go back now."
Bennet stopped and turned towards him. The rain had stopped some time ago and the moon was just barely bright enough that the painter could see the intense expression on the older man's face. "Don't you feel it?"
Isaac blanched, not liking Bennet's too passionate tone. "Feel what?"
"It," the man repeated and Isaac suddenly realized that this trek was no longer about finding Claire. He didn't know what the man in the horn rimmed glasses was thinking, but he knew that he no longer wanted to be a part of it.
"Alright Bennet, I'm following the strips back to camp," he told him wearily. He could only hope that Peter and Simone had actually found Claire and were already back at the caves.
"Suit yourself," the other man shrugged indifferently as he reached for something in his belt. "Here. You need this more than I do."
With that said, the man tossed him what looked like a flash light, but Isaac was too startled and confused to actually catch it. Instead, flash light went tumbling to the ground, emitting a loud clang as it landed.
Isaac stiffened, praying to God that he didn't just hear that, but from the way Bennet was staring curiously at the ground, it seemed that the other man had heard it too. He watched as Bennet knelt down and grabbed the flash light, handing it to him, but never taking his eyes off of the terrain. "What is that?" Isaac asked in spite of the voice in his head telling him to just get out of there.
Silently, the paper salesman began tearing away at the ground, exposing something flat and hard hiding underneath the thick layer of plant life. Bennet pulled out one of his knives, jabbing at the slate and once again emitting several metallic clanks.
"Steel," he told him finally.
"Maybe it's part of the plane?" Isaac ventured, kneeling down curiously. As he did so, Bennet used his knife to jab at different parts of the ground, each one making the same metal echo. He knew right away that he was wrong. There was no way that big of a chunk of the plane had been buried that deeply so quickly. "What is that?"
"That's what we're going to find out," Bennet told him. With that, he started digging and Isaac actually found himself following the other man's lead.
Next Chapter
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
Author's Note: No, this story isn't dead. I'm just incredibly lazy.
Previous Chapters
Chapter 22
"Red shirt," Isaac grumbled darkly as he tied off a piece of red fabric to a low hanging branch.
Bennet turned towards him skeptically. "What?"
"Red shirt," he repeated, but when he got no reaction from the other man, he continued. "Have you ever seen Star Trek?"
"No."
Isaac paused for a moment, taken aback by the fact that the older man had never seen the series or had any familiarity with the reference, before gathering his thoughts and continuing. "The crew members that would go down to the planet with the main characters," he explained, "the Captain and the guy with the pointy ears, they always wore red shirts and they always got killed."
"Sounds like a piss poor Captain," Bennet said indifferently before continuing on his way as if Isaac weren't even there.
The painter didn't pretend to understand what was going on. He didn't know what Bennet's relationship with Claire was about, or Claire's relationship with Peter for that matter, and he was trying not to think about the fact that his girlfriend was currently wandering through a monster and polar bear infested jungle with a man who had romantic feelings for her, hunting a dangerous kidnapper. Yet it was hard to figure things out or put troubling thoughts out of his mind when he himself was wandering through a monster and polar bear infested jungle with a stoic loner who, a few days ago, had taken his drugs and forced him into a very primitive form of rehab.
It was because of all of these things that the Hispanic man kept talking when it was very obvious that he should just shut up and follow Bennet's lead. "So what do you do in the real world, Mr. Bennet?"
"Take a guess," the middle aged man grumbled, keeping his eyes trained towards the ground. Isaac couldn't tell if they were lost or on the right track and a part of him was too worried to bother asking.
"Well, you're either a taxidermist or a hit man," he said dryly.
Bennet let out a bitter laugh, a clear indication that he had missed his guess by a mile. "I was a regional collections supervisor for a paper company."
Isaac blanched, stopping dead in his tracks as he took in the other man's words. "A p-paper company?" That was a joke. It had to be a joke, because there was no way that he was being lead around a monster and polar bear infested jungle with a middle management paper sales man.
The man in the horn rimmed glasses halted, turning to give Isaac a tight lipped smile, a smile that said that he wished he was just kidding. "We sold paper."
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"Hey!" Simone panted, quickening her steps in an attempt to catch up with the young nurse who was practically sprinting through the jungle. "Could you slow down for a sec?"
"You said they went this way!" Peter shouted back from over his shoulder, but he showed no signs of slowing down.
"I said I think they went this way," Simone clarified, stumbling over an exposed root and almost falling on her face. Maybe she would have been better off had she gone with Isaac or Bennet. "I'm not as good at this as Bennet."
Peter huffed, stopping for just a moment so that she could catch up with him, before continuing to march ahead, driven by worry and stubbornness. "So where'd you pick up those tracking skills?"
The young woman frowned, not liking the bitterness in Peter's tone. "Excuse me?"
"You don't talk about yourself," Peter said, hurt and anger faint in his words, but they were there. "All I know about you is that you're Isaac's girlfriend and you have asthma. We've been living on this island for two weeks now. Seems like long enough for you to say something as important as you know how to hunt."
Her frown deepened as she grabbed the young man by his arm, stopping him and forcing his gaze to meet hers. "My dad used to take me hunting as a kid," she grumbled, digging her nails tightly into his arm. "We'd hunt small game mostly, sometimes bigger game when it was in season. Sometimes we'd spend days in the woods together tracking deer. I grew up rich, but my dad didn't. Hunting was his way of getting back to his roots."
An awkward silence fell on the two and after a few minutes passed, Simone loosened her grip on Peter's arm. "My history is my own, Peter," she told him sternly. "If I don't talk about my past, then maybe I don't want to. You never told me why you were in Australia and I accept that. I'm not going to be bullied into spilling out information about myself. You want to know more about me, then you damn well better ask me properly next time."
With that said, the tanned woman walked past the nurse, bumping his shoulder roughly against her side as she tried her best to pick up the trail.
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"Tracy? Who the hell is Tracy!"
Angela's dark brown eyes flickered towards Peter's confused face for just a moment before returning to her plate. "The woman Nathan's having an affair with," she answered casually.
"I didn't catch him with Tracy," Peter practically seethed. "I saw him with Elizabeth. His secretary?"
"Oh."
It was then that the nurse's jaw practically hit the floor. Oh? That was all his mother had to say about this? Oh? His mind was reeling and his fists were balled so tightly that he felt certain there'd be little half moon punctures on his palms. He'd always known his mother to be aloof, the type of person not easily startled or caught off guard by any type of news, but he'd expected more than this from her. "Mom, your son, your married, politician son, is having an affair with multiple women, and you don't care?"
"As long as it doesn't affect his work..." she said, the rest of her words fading away as if they weren't important any more.
"Doesn't affect his work?" Peter laughed bitterly at the woman's words. "He's sleeping with his secretary, Mom! How can that not effect his work?"
Angela didn't frown, she didn't stiffen, she barely even moved. She merely calmly put her fork down and stared at her son, her expression weary and chiding, an expression that he was far too familiar with. "Peter, why does this upset you so much?"
The nurse sighed, rolling his eyes at his mother's question. He was starting to get the feeling that he was the only reasonable member of his family. "Because it's wrong!" he blurted out. "Because he's a senator and he should be doing better things with his time than cheating on his wife! And what about Heidi? Or Monty? Or Simon?"
"They don't know," Angela said simply. "They don't need to know."
"Yes they do," he told her, his words firm and confident. "They're going to be effected by this."
"Exactly," she clipped; her words and her eyes ice cold. "They can't know. No one can know about this. Can you imagine what this sort of thing would do to your brother's career? If this story got out it would ruin him! No one can know that your brother cheated on his wife, especially with her condition."
Peter felt his heart constrict at his mother's words. "I have to tell her," he whispered. "Heidi's my friend... she's like a sister to me. I can't..."
"Peter." The nurse flinched as his mother reached across the table and grasped his tense hand in her cold fingers. "Please. If you care about your brother at all, you will keep quiet."
The young man sighed as he weighed his options. He cared about Heidi deeply, she was like family to him, and since her accident they'd only become closer. Yet Nathan was his brother, his blood. If he told Heidi about this, there was no doubt in his mind that she'd leave Nathan. His brother would find out and never speak to him again.
He had to fight the urge to cry as he gave his mother a short nod.
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The fugitive felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders as he stared down at Mohinder's unconscious body. They were alone -- Mohinder had been placed in a secluded area of the caves where most of Peter's medical supplies were hidden -- and Sylar suddenly wanted...
His heart hammered as all the things his body longed to do swirled around in his brain. He wanted to cry. He wanted to fall to his knees and thank God that Mohinder was back and alive. He wanted to gather the man's unconscious body in his arms and kiss him senseless. He wanted to beg him to never leave his side again.
Sylar held his breath as he crouched down next to Mohinder's sleeping form, studying him carefully. He looked awful. The Indian was covered in bruises and tiny scrapes. His skin was dripping with sweat and his breathing seemed shallow and labored. Yet it was the sloppily mended wound on his leg that drew Sylar's attention. It figured that the nurse would choose to go on a wild goose chase through the jungle instead of tending to someone at the camp who was in need.
The fugitive clucked his tongue softly, as he wrapped a supportive arm around Mohinder's shoulder, shifting the unconscious Indian's weight so that they were pressed together, Mohinder's dark head resting on Sylar's pale shoulder. The geneticist moaned softly, his eye lids fluttering slightly as his mind drifted back into the waking world.
"Shhh," Sylar whispered gently, brushing a stray curl out of the man's face. "Go back to sleep."
His words seemed to have the opposite of their intended effect as Mohinder's body tensed and his eyes slowly slid open, looking around sleepily. "Where am I?" the Indian whispered, his voice hoarse and faint.
"You're safe," he assured him, making sure to keep his tone calm and soothing. "You're back at the caves."
"Peter?"
"He's out in the jungle. He'll be back eventually." He paused, adjusting himself so that he wasn't resting his weight so heavily on his foot. "Do you want anything? Water, maybe?"
Mohinder looked at him, his eyes focusing on his face for just a second, before slipping shut in quiet irritation. "I'd like for you to get away from me," he groaned.
Sylar chuckled, but didn't move. He was enjoying the feeling of their sweat coated bodies pressed together and he wasn't going to let Mohinder's attitude spoil their reunion. He had to savor this moment. "What happened to you out there?" he asked, indicating the man's injured leg. "You look awful."
"I was taken prisoner," he explained wearily, "by the Spanish woman."
The fugitive felt his ears perk up at the geneticist's words. "The Spanish woman from the eight year old distress signal that we picked up? She's still alive?"
Mohinder nodded weakly. "She was part of a science expedition," he explained. "She said her ship wrecked."
"Was she alone?"
Mohinder was silent for a moment, adjusting himself and trying to wiggle out of Sylar's grasp, but the serial killer wouldn't let him go. "She said that there were others on the island."
Sylar stiffened. He had only been mildly interested in their conversation, but that piece of information changed things drastically. "Are they her people?" he asked. "Part of her team?"
"No," the Indian sighed. "She was under the impression that her entire team was 'sick'... she murdered them."
The American felt his grip on the other man's body tighten. He suddenly wanted to kill Matt Parkman and Peter Petrelli. If those two had only allowed him to go after Mohinder, the Indian would not have needed to deal with a woman who was clearly not playing with a full deck.
He startled as he felt Mohinder's body start to go limp against him. It was then that he remembered what Micah had told him. That Claire had been kidnapped by a woman who was posing as one of them. And now Mohinder was saying that the Spanish woman told him that the island had other people on it. "But these other people," he continued, squeezing Mohinder's shoulder in order to keep him awake. He'd let the other man rest, after he got all the information he needed. "Who are they?"
"I don't know," he told him, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly. "She's never seen them."
"But she knows they're out there?"
Mohinder frowned, craning his neck upwards so that he was looking Sylar in the eye. "Do you believe her?"
"A girl was kidnapped," he told him. "Claire... They said she was taken by someone pretending to be one of us."
The Indian's eyes widened as he sat up, pushing Sylar's possessive arms away from him forcefully. "When did-"
"Not long ago, I think," Sylar cut in, reaching out to pull Mohinder back into his embrace, but the other man stubbornly refused. "Peter and some others are looking for her." He paused, noticing the suspicious look in Mohinder's eyes. "I wasn't here when it happened. I'm not a kidnapper."
"No, you're just a good natured serial killer," Mohinder grumbled, rolling his eyes at Sylar's lame excuse.
"You don't believe me?" the American asked, although he was barely paying attention to his own words. He was far too distracted by the ugly purple bruise on Mohinder's forehead.
"I believe you," he sighed. The fugitive knew that a part of Mohinder actually wished that Sylar had played a hand in this situation just so he would have another excuse to hate him. "If you had done it, you wouldn't be here. And in the jungle, I heard..." Mohinder's words faded away, as if he regretted what he was saying, what he was thinking.
"What?" he asked, placing a concerned hand on Mohinder's shoulder. "What did you hear?"
Yet the Indian still said nothing. He shook his head, as if to erase the train of thought from his mind, before turning his irate brown eyes towards Sylar. "Do you have something to say to me?" he snapped. "Or are you going to simply ask me questions I don't have answers to."
Sylar smiled. In spite of the man's sour mood and hateful stare, he still missed him. During the short time they had spent living together on the island, he'd actually gotten used to having the geneticist around. He was frustrating and difficult, a puzzle that Sylar needed to complete and a presence that he couldn't live without. He wasn't going to let Mohinder out of his sight ever again.
"The tide's coming up the beach," he told him evenly. "The hull's almost completely underwater."
Mohinder sighed, closing his eyes and lowering himself back onto the ground. "It's good to be back," he grumbled sarcastically.
Sylar laughed.
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Isaac grunted, wiping the sweat off his brow wearily, as his tired legs continued on the rocky uneven path that Bennet was leading him along. It hadn’t been that long since they had parted ways with Simone and Peter, but the painter was starting to worry that they were lost. Bennet wasn't saying anything, his entire being was too busy being focused on the task at hand, and the longer they walked the more unfamiliar their surroundings began to look to him.
"It's been almost fifteen minutes since we've seen any kind of sign," Isaac said. "What are we following?"
"My gut," Bennet answered simply, his words gruff and distracted.
The Hispanic artist scowled at the middle aged man's tone. He knew he should be grateful to him -- after all, Bennet had been the one to force him to take the final step and kick his heroin addiction -- and he knew he should be patient -- Bennet was looking for Claire, a frightened sixteen year old girl who had done nothing but try her best to help everyone on the island since they had crashed here -- but he was sick and tired and worried about his girlfriend. Those three things made it nearly impossible for him to just hold his tongue as they wandered blindly through the jungle.
"I think we should head back," he said finally. "Peter and Simone could have found something by now, or maybe even Matt's group. If nothing else-"
"Alright, Isaac. Go back to the camp."
The young man stiffened, stopping dead in his tracks as Bennet continued on his way. He hadn't been expecting that. He had been expecting the other man to put up some sort of fight, to argue and yell before finally seeing reason and relenting. Instead he was turning him away, brushing him off as if he were no good, of no use. "What?"
"It's going to start raining soon," Bennet commented, finally coming to a halt so he could turn and look Isaac in the eye. "In a minute, give or take. The trail's been cold for about a quarter mile and the terrain ahead is pretty dangerous. If you head back now, you'll probably make it to the caves before dark."
Isaac frowned, quirking a skeptic eyebrow at the other man. "What about you?"
"I'll be fine," he said, flashing the younger man a condescending smile. "I can take care of myself. If you need to go back-"
"If you're going, I'm going." There was no room for argument in his words. He hadn't given up drugs just to be told that he still wasn't good enough, that he still couldn't contribute.
Bennet's smile softened. He gave him a quick nod then continued on. It was at that exact moment that the sky opened up and rain began pouring down in buckets. Isaac stood there, stunned and wondering just how the older man had known it would rain.
“They teach you how to predict the weather in a ‘paper company?”
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Peter tried not to think about the pouring rain or the dread gripping his heart or the fact that both he and Simone were tired and frustrated as he continued on what he assumed was the correct path. It didn't take long before they found themselves in a heavily forested part of the jungle. The tall trees did nothing to help keep the rain out of their eyes and it only served to dim the lights and make their search that much harder. It was because of their surroundings and how long they'd been searching with absolutely no signs that Peter was startled when his eyes landed on a second, golden "C" lying on the ground.
A smile tugged at his lips as he jugged towards the fallen earring, bending down to study it carefully. "I guess we were right," he shouted, trying his best to outdo the roar of the pouring rain. "Which way?"
Simone frowned, studying the ground carefully for some sort of clue. She shrugged her shoulders and opened her mouth to say something, but the words never left her. Instead, she was interrupted by an eerie sound from somewhere deep in the jungle. At first, he had thought it had been nothing more than a group of birds scattering and cawing at each other, but then he heard it. A scream. A too familiar scream.
Without a second thought, he was up and running, heading towards what he felt certain was the source of the noise.
"Peter?" he heard Simone cry, confusion and worry coloring her words. "Peter where are you going?"
"Didn't you hear that?" he asked, not bothering to slow down or even turn to make sure she was still following him. His heart was pounding, his mind was reeling, and he felt deep in his gut that they were close, so close to finding her.
"Hear what?"
"Claire!" Peter shouted. "It was Claire!"
The howling wind and rain drowned out Simone's words (although Peter wasn't even sure if she had said anything) as they approached a steep hill that was covered in twisted vines and roots. If Peter had been in a less frantic state, he would have realized that the rain and dark would only make climbing up the hill that much harder, but he couldn't stop. He was scaling the surface before he could even register what was happening. A soft grunt alerted him to the fact that Simone was, literally, right at his heels.
Peter huffed, just making it to the top of the hill when his hands and feet met only slick mud. It was quick, but it was just enough for him to lose his balance and tumble towards the ground. His world went white for a moment as he landed flat on his side. His head buzzed and his lungs burned as he scrambled back to his feet. It was only then that he noticed that he wasn't alone.
She was dripping wet and shrouded mostly in shadows, yet somehow he knew, just knew, that it was Candice standing in front of him.
"Hey Pete," she greeted casually, before kicking him square in the jaw and sending him flying onto his back. He grunted, all the air leaving his lungs in an instant. Yet in spite of the fact that he was already down, Candice didn't let up. She came up to put her foot on his chest, and pressed down, crushing his sternum and making him gasp for air. He couldn't help but think how ironic it was that he had been in this same position before. Only then it was Sylar stomping on him and Mohinder had been there to stop the other man from taking things too far. Now it was just him and Candice. "If you don't stop following me, I'll kill her. Do you understand?"
He knew she was bluffing. She wouldn't have gone to all this trouble to kidnap Claire only to kill her. It was with that thought in his head that Peter reached out and grabbed Candice's leg, pushing it off his chest with surprising ease.
The woman stumbled backwards. It was just enough of a distraction for Peter to get to his feet and take a swing at her. Yet Candice had already recovered herself and easily dodged his attack. He took another swing, but it went wide and he only connected with air. Candice gave a frustrated grunt before slamming her fist into his cheek. Peter stumbled just as she gave him a right hook directly into his gut. He huffed, doubling over as the woman delivered yet another kick to his jaw.
"No more warnings!" she growled, kicking him one last time before his world faded into darkness.
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"Oh hey, Pete," Heidi greeted cheerfully. "What brings you here?"
Peter smiled down at his sister-in-law as she wheeled herself over to him. He bent down and wrapped her in a warm embrace, but the woman's usual enthusiasm and warmth wasn't quite there.
The accident had been so long ago, but it was still strange seeing her like this. Heidi had always been so beautiful, vibrant and lively, but after the crash she shrank into herself, a shell of misery and despair. Months of agonizing physical therapy later had resulted in her regaining most of her confidence, her former self slowly reemerging, but it wasn't quite back yet.
"I'm kinda here to see Nathan," Peter explained, pulling away from her.
An apologetic looks spread across her pale features as she moved aside, allowing Peter further entry into the mansion. "I'm afraid he's not here," she explained. "He went somewhere with his advisor... or aid -- I can't remember which -- I just remember that she's a blonde woman... Tracy I think."
The nurse paled, that name ringing a far too familiar bell. His stomach twisted with anger. Nathan was being far too casual with his affairs. Sleeping around -- with members of his own staff no less -- and not even bothering to keep the identities of his mistresses a secret.
"Can I get you anything, Pete?" she offered, wheeling herself towards the kitchen.
"Heidi," he began, effectively stopping her in her tracks. His throat tightened and his limbs suddenly felt so heavy under the weight of what he was about to say, but it had to be done. The truth must come out and if Nathan wouldn't do the right thing, then he would.
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"Peter! Peter! Wake up!"
The nurse groaned as his mind slowly drifted back into the waking world. He was cold and sore and dripping wet. Looking around, he could see that it was still raining and that he was lying on his back in what felt like mud as Simone gazed down at him, her light eyes filled with worry.
"How long was I out?" he asked, carefully lifting himself up even though he knew that it was a bad idea.
"I don't know," Simone told him. "You slid on the rocks and-"
"Candice," he blurted out as the memories slowly floated back to him. -
"What?"
"Candice was here," he told her.
Simone frowned, gripping his arms tightly in her thin hands as if she were afraid that he would run off again. It was a reasonable assumption since that was exactly what his body was telling him to do. "Peter, you banged your head on some rocks-"
"She was here Simone!" he snapped, brushing her hands off of him.
"Peter, listen to me!" she began forcefully. "The rain washed away the trail. Even if Candice was here there'd be no way to follow her."
"No," he frowned, shaking his head harshly. He couldn't give up. He couldn't abandon Claire like this. "We have to keep looking."
"Peter, please. You're hurt. It's getting dark. We will find Claire, but not tonight."
His heart felt like it was on fire and his throat tightened as he thought about the blonde teenager; somewhere out in the jungle, frightened out of her mind. He knew what Simone was saying was right, but the idea of giving up and going home made him feel sick inside. Yet as Simone began pulling him to his feet and guiding him back towards the camp, he actually found himself following her.
He would find Claire. Just not tonight.
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"Mom!"
Niki smiled as Micah ran towards her, wrapping his thin arms around her in a tight hug. It was a gesture that she still wasn't completely used to, but was more than happy to welcome. "Hey, baby," she beamed, returning the hug gratefully.
"Peter and Simone just got back too," he told her.
She frowned, looking around the camp in search of the missing girl they had all been looking for. "Did they find Claire?"
Micah's expression grew solemn as he shook his head in response. "Mr. Bennet and Isaac haven't come back yet either."
The blonde woman felt her frown deepen at her son's words. A part of her wanted to stay optimistic and believe that the two men had found Claire and were bringing her back now, but the logical voice in her heard told her that it wasn't likely.
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"Are we lost?" Isaac asked, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering as he spoke. He was cold and wet and his feet were killing him. He should have turned around when Bennet had told him to.
"No, we're not lost," the paper salesman assured him confidently.
Isaac frowned. At this point, the older man had no right to be confident. He couldn't tell if it was stubbornness or insanity that kept the man from admitting that he didn't have a clue what he was doing, but he didn't care. He was following a paper salesman around the jungle in the middle of the night.
"I don't see how you can still be following the trail," Isaac said pointedly. "I think we should really go back now."
Bennet stopped and turned towards him. The rain had stopped some time ago and the moon was just barely bright enough that the painter could see the intense expression on the older man's face. "Don't you feel it?"
Isaac blanched, not liking Bennet's too passionate tone. "Feel what?"
"It," the man repeated and Isaac suddenly realized that this trek was no longer about finding Claire. He didn't know what the man in the horn rimmed glasses was thinking, but he knew that he no longer wanted to be a part of it.
"Alright Bennet, I'm following the strips back to camp," he told him wearily. He could only hope that Peter and Simone had actually found Claire and were already back at the caves.
"Suit yourself," the other man shrugged indifferently as he reached for something in his belt. "Here. You need this more than I do."
With that said, the man tossed him what looked like a flash light, but Isaac was too startled and confused to actually catch it. Instead, flash light went tumbling to the ground, emitting a loud clang as it landed.
Isaac stiffened, praying to God that he didn't just hear that, but from the way Bennet was staring curiously at the ground, it seemed that the other man had heard it too. He watched as Bennet knelt down and grabbed the flash light, handing it to him, but never taking his eyes off of the terrain. "What is that?" Isaac asked in spite of the voice in his head telling him to just get out of there.
Silently, the paper salesman began tearing away at the ground, exposing something flat and hard hiding underneath the thick layer of plant life. Bennet pulled out one of his knives, jabbing at the slate and once again emitting several metallic clanks.
"Steel," he told him finally.
"Maybe it's part of the plane?" Isaac ventured, kneeling down curiously. As he did so, Bennet used his knife to jab at different parts of the ground, each one making the same metal echo. He knew right away that he was wrong. There was no way that big of a chunk of the plane had been buried that deeply so quickly. "What is that?"
"That's what we're going to find out," Bennet told him. With that, he started digging and Isaac actually found himself following the other man's lead.
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