fic: same as it ever was
same as it ever was
heroes. alt. universe. ensemble.
pg13, for violence. some references to season one.
uncle flint used to say that people were always good for two things: money and stupidity. claire tries to argue, but she's seen too many things that only exemplify those facts. for verstehen.
prompt: how would claire be different if she grew up with meredith? how does she meet sylar?
uncle flint used to say that people were always good for two things: money and stupidity. claire tries to argue, but she's seen too many things that only exemplify those facts. it was usually the first part that made them stupid, although in flint's case, it just came to him naturally. that's why he was still locked up, while she and her mother lived under the radar, relocating every couple of years or months to keep the company off their backs.
and it was why she was here, now, in new york city, sitting in front of nathan petrelli.
"i'm sorry," he says, "who are you again? you're obviously far too young to be working for any news agency."
she sits back in a metal chair, observes the glass windows behind the desk, and wonders briefly how nathan would look under the bright sunlight. she's studied his picture for weeks-- the strong jaw lines, determined eyes.
"my name is claire. claire gordon."
"gordon," he repeats, and straightens his tie. "doesn't ring a bell. you understand i'm a very busy man-- running for congress and all." he sends her a quick smile, "i don't really have time for girl scouts or whatever you're trying to sell."
claire's lips pout and she wonders for a moment, if dying her hair dark to match his was a mistake. maybe the blonde would have made the name more memberable. maybe if she played more innocent, he'd be willing to listen.
"i'm not selling anything," she says, and gets straight to the point. "i'm your daughter."
there aren't many things that can stop a district attorney in his tracks, not many things he hasn't heard or seen before. a brother who thinks he can fly? that's just comical. but a daughter he never knew existed?
"no," he says, standing to walk to the door. "no, i don't have a daughter. if you'll excuse me--"
"yes," claire insists, locking her jaw and hissing her words out. "you do. my mother's name is meredith. she never told you about me because it didn't matter then. but now..."
claire leaves her words hanging, her intention clear. she cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. nathan shifts his weight and folds his arms, the wheels and gears in his head working to devise a scheme or plan of attack. nathan was always good for fixing things, even if the promises he made were not always kept.
"how much?" he asks quietly.
claire smiles, but the gesture doesn't put him at ease. "one hundred thousand now. another fifty after you win the election."
--
in this life, there is no save the cheerleader, save the world.
but there is a list.
and her name is slowly approaching.
--
three weeks pass before peter comes to him, frantic, eyes brimming with hope and fear and warnings fueled by good intentions. he says there's a girl and she's in danger, and with pete, it's always the same routine played over again.
"i'm serious, nathan. i saw issac yesterday and then last night i could do it. i could paint the future! look--"
he shows nathan the sketch of a strange man hidden in shadows standing in front of a young, timid girl-- her eyes filled with fear and worry. he knows her, recognizes her.
"claire." nathan whispers.
peter's brows furrow. "you know her?"
nathan lets his strong exterior fade for a minute as his eyes become glazed over with mixed emotion. "yes," he says, then-- "no." he pinches the bridge of his nose. he doesn't need this. "look, even if i did, i don't know where to find her, okay? what do you want me to do?"
he starts to walk away but peter stops him. "nate-- look." peter stands in front of him, holding the artwork and pointing to the corner of the page. very small, in very fine detail is a man soaring in the clouds above the scene. "i think that's me," peter says. "i think i'm supposed to save her."
nathan wants to argue-- no, it's me-- but the stronger part of him, the politician, overpowers to say he should stay out of it. he has bigger things to worry about. new york city, linderman, plans for change. he pats peter on the shoulder, winks and says, "okay pete. good luck with that."
he leaves his brother standing alone, while he marches on, trying to get his breathing back to a steady rate.
--
in this story, eden doesn't die.
matt parkman does.
the sylar case remains open, and the remaining FBI agents are all too scared to go after him. they find the body of two agents ripped in half, their brains leaking out onto the floor. but worst of all, was the terror frozen in their eyes, as if they had seen the impossible.
as if they witnessed the devil himself.
noah bennet crosses the name off his list. he nods to the haitian, "i think its time we find the doctor."
--
"mr. petrelli! mr. petrelli, i must speak with you," mohinder attempts to break through the security flanks, as nathan stands behind the safety of his sunglasses, dismissing the man on sight alone. "your life may be in danger," the man shouts. this time, nathan stops.
he pauses, the corners of his lips turning up just slightly to put off the fear behind any and every threat he's received. "i'm sorry," he says, "i didn't get your name."
"suresh. doctor suresh. please, my father was a geneticist, as am i. i believe you may be one of a handful of people, evolved beings who possess great and startling abilities."
nathan attempts to laugh, if anything, for the benefit of the public around him. "right. well... if that ability is to bring change and hope to the great city of new york, then you'd be right. but if you excuse me, i have a flight i need to catch."
mohinder fights against the security and nathan watches him behind the tainted windows of his car. his brother can fly. so can he. he is an evolved being, despite trying everything to remain normal.
"please!" suresh shouts, "there's a list, if you'll just listen to me."
nathan's breath catches in his throat, and his hand jerks out uncontrollably. he rolls down the window. "jacobs, bring him here. and ride with me." one of the security men escorts mohinder into the black SUV, and nathan informs him not to listen to the conversation about to be had. he's stuck on that word, a list, and its far too convenient and close to something like fate, something too close to peter and his optimism and fantasies.
"doctor suresh, is it? what exactly is on this list?"
"names," mohinder explains, "names of individuals and their locations where they can be found. all of them, it seems, were located by my father under a project to identify humans with evolved abilities. mind reading, spontaneous regeneration, telekinesis. they all exist."
nathan holds up a hand to stop him. "my name... is it there?"
"yes, as is your brothers. its why i needed to contact you, warn you. there is a man by the name of sylar hunting down special people and murdering them. you needed to be informed. you could be next."
"sir--" the security man begins to say, but nathan stops him-- "didn't i tell you not to listen to this conversation?"
nathan rubs his temples; this was all too much to take in. if he was discovered, exposed, that could mean the end of his career. he would be a danger to the city, to the government. "i need my name taken off that list," he says.
mohinder's face becomes perplexed. "i can't," he says. "it's already there. and sylar--"
"-- is a threat?"
"very."
nathan wonders, "who else is on that list? gordon. is there anyone by the name of gordon?"
mohinder repeats the name to himself, "yes, yes there are. three of them i believe-- all related."
nathan swallows. "i need to find them. i need to find them right away."
--
peter continues to try and paint the future. when issac disappears, he doesn't take it as a sign. he keeps trying. nathan attempts to track down meredith and claire, but the address suresh gives leads them to a trailer park in tennessee, old and abandoned for years. he needs to find them. needs to find her.
in the back of his head he repeats to himself, i am the flying man.
as if it would help him. as if it would convince himself it was true. he was never a man of faith, always feelings safer to put his money on numbers. but lately the unimaginable had been coming true, and now nathan was being asked to rely on his instincts alone.
he finds peter in his apartment, a blank canvas in front of him.
he leaves the drugs on the counter.
"maybe it will help. i need to find them, pete."
--
claire waits tables in midland, texas as a front for what she and mother do on the side. she's not very good at it, constantly dropping things or knocking them over. she's the definition of clumsy, which only makes it far too ironic that she can heal from any wound. but meredith insists she keeps at it. you can get a job waiting tables anywhere. it'll come in handy one day when i'm gone and you'll be on your own.
that was the first time she really thought about it-- how she'd live forever. how everyone she ever knew would die.
after that, it was easy to become hardened. it was easy not to care. she spent too long living that way to remember what it was like to be normal, to be a carefree teenage girl. she grew up under the instruction not to get too close to anyone. running away was her mother's specialty.
that, and blackmailing men who accidentally killed an young, petite girl whose body was never found or heard of again.
their ploys were simple: find a target, set him up, and then play road kill. meredith would seduce them and take them out on a road trip to the desert. claire would wait and dart out into the dark street, timing it perfectly so the car would hit her, and she would appear dead. the men would panic, and the intense emotions made it all too easy to squeeze out a couple thousand dollars to stay quiet and never mention the "accident" again.
it was easy. it was effective. because after all, people were only good for two things.
claire loses balance while daydreaming and a plate of waffles fall to the floor. her manager gives her a nasty glare, while sweet, innocent charlie giggles from the sidelines.
"i'm sorry," claire says. "ugh, i'm never going to learn."
"it's alright, sweetie. you'll get it sooner or later."
"i should just give up, stop trying. i'm not cut out for this."
charlie smiles, her doe eyes pouring out sympathy. "oh, claire. don't say that. listen, i know a lot about a lot of things, okay? and one of the things i know about is people. why, you're not like anyone else, claire! you could do anything you wanted to, be anyone, so long as you put your mind to it."
claire wishes she wouldn't look at her like that, so full of emotion and friendship. she should know better, should know not to take those words as truths. she can't, because if she was ever found, she'd be taken in and experimented on. she can't play the hero. she can't have friends. she's a fugitive at heart.
"thank you," she says, and her pause is indicative of her guilt. "but... you don't know anything about me."
--
when nathan arrives, peter is curled up on the couch, a blanket around him. his hair dangles in front of his eyes, beads of sweat dab at his forehead.
"where is it?" he asks.
peter points toward the kitchen and nathan walks in to a mess of colors smeared across every surface imaginable. on an easel sits a canvas and the sight alone is enough to make his stomach curl. in a pool of her own blood lies a waitress, face down, the top of her head cut off. the man from the shadows stands over her, guilty of the crime. the colors are all mixed with hues of blue and purple, lights from the street lamps outside the diner the only thing distinguishing the difference of forms.
"claire..." nathan whispers. "is she... is this her?"
peter walks in the room, his eyes still glazed over. "i don't know."
"when does this happen? i don't understand-- does this follow the other one, or proceed it?
"i don't know," peter repeats.
"that's not good enough," nathan snarls, and its odd for peter to see him worked up so much about something he knows so little about.
"we only have one choice," peter says. "we go to texas."
"texas?"
peter points to the glass window of the painting, just over the killer's shoulder. "burnt toast diner," he reads. "i looked it up. it's in midland, texas."
"texas," nathan repeats.
--
she's known for a long time that there were other people like her. she just didn't know how to find them. her mother says whenever a group of them cluster, the company comes and takes them. claire used to have nightmares of the man in horn rimmed glasses. she even has a scar from when she got caught-- a brief encounter, fortunately. her mother escaped and found her. in the process, the paper company burnt down to the ground.
on a tuesday afternoon, claire bumps into a man on her way home from work. she apologizes, and expects him to do the same. he doesn't.
there was something about him that was different, off. he was dressed like a man from the city, not at all like a local or even citizen of texas. she was intrigued, and yet, scared. "i'm sorry," she says, "are you lost?"
he continues to stare at her and it becomes unsettling until he speaks. "actually," he says, "i'm looking for a place. the burnt toast diner?" he reads from a yellow post-it in his hand and tilts his head. "if you could just point me in the right direction..." he says and lets the sentence fade.
claire pauses, unsure. "yeah," she says, and swallows. something about this man says she shouldn't tell the truth. something about him tells her to run. "i think its that way," and points toward east copper street, the opposite direction from the real location.
the man nods once, and walks away.
claire's arms fill with goosebumps and she sprints to her car. she locks the doors as soon as she's inside, as if that would keep her safe. she had no idea who the mysterious man was, and she intended to keep it that way. at times her mother was right-- it was better to stay hidden then get yourself caught.
--
"you know," peter says, buckling the seat belt and arching an eyebrow, "i bet this would be a lot quicker flying the other way."
nathan narrows his eyes and looks around the plane to make sure no one was listening. "i'm not some express ride you can slide a nickel into, pete."
--
after a slight mishap, the man in black sits at the corner table of the diner, and waits.
the girl comes to him, all smiles and sweet eyes asking him what he wants. he smiles, because there's so much she's about to do for him.
contrary to what the others believe, he doesn't enjoy the smell of blood. its sticky and too warm and used to make his stomach knot. but he's gotten used to it. he's gotten used to a lot of things-- one of them the constant ticking of the watch he carries as a reminder of where he came from, who he was.
the other? well, murder.
--
when they finally arrive, they know they're too late.
yellow tape blocks the doorway entrance and police inform the public to keep back a safe distance. they watch as a body is wheeled out beneath a white drape, stained brown and red with blood. photographers inside capture the scene but peter doesn't need to be in there to know what it looks like-- he painted it.
he knows now what he's capable of, that he can predict the future. he could fly too, if only nathan would stay close enough to let him concentrate and practice. but more importantly, peter knows that he has what it takes to be a hero. that he has to fight back. he has to protect people from the monster responsible for this crime.
it takes nathan a long time before he finally speaks.
"i never knew," he says. "she never told me she was pregnant. our relationship was never going to last to begin with but you'd think... and then, she died." he looks at peter, his face more vulnerable than ever before. "i went to her funeral, fourteen years ago. i mourned her. and then out of no where her daughter-- my daughter-- appears."
"nate..." peter tries.
"i should have done more. i should have been there. i never should have let her go."
peter put his hand on his brother's shoulder. he can't tell if he's talking about his ex or his daughter, but at that moment it didn't matter. "it's not your fault. listen to me, there's nothing you could have done, okay? this isn't your..."
peter's words trail off and he tilts his head. his attention is caught elsewhere, out into the crowd of people rushing to the police barriers. there's a girl he's seen from his dreams, short with curly brown hair, a face full of rosy cheeks and green eyes. nathan questions him and peter points toward her direction.
"claire."
--
uncle flint used to say there was no use trying to help other people when you'd only get yourself in trouble in the process. his determination was simple: steal from the rich and take for himself. he liked scaring people, seeing the shadows from the flames dance across their faces. he didn't live the protected life she did, and so claire forgave him for his mistakes and cruelty. he never hurt her or her mother. on the contrary, it was in protecting them that he got himself caught.
a tear falls from the corner of her eye as she watches the police take notes and she can't help but feel responsible. charlie was dead and she knew why-- she knew it was because of the strange man in the street that previous afternoon.
she should have done something. she should have warned her.
she hears her name being called from somewhere in the crowd, and her first reaction is to run. she falls back in to the cover of the crowd and allows herself a glimpse back at her followers. she can't make out their forms very well, but can see a young boy with long black hair running and pushing people out of the way. she continues to hide deeper and her short stature makes it easy to get lost amongst the mass. the boy could be cute, if it weren't for the dried paint on his hands and neck and the look of empathy across his face.
"claire!" the other man shouts, and finally she makes out his form.
"nathan."
confused, she steps toward them, giving away her position and allowing them to find her. "claire, you're alive!" nathan says, and pulls her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.
claire's body freezes, she's not used to such a sentiment. her mother hugs her, sure-- but this. this was new and strange and unreal. "what are you doing here?" she asks. "how did you find me? if this is about the money," and she becomes nervous, defensive and takes a step backward-- "fine. take it back, whatever. just don't--"
"no," peter interrupts, "no, we're here to save you."
claire raises her eyebrows, and laughs. "really? sorry, but i don't know you. and you definitely don't know anything about me. i don't need saving."
"claire," nathan says, "that girl in there? that was supposed to be you." she looks back toward the diner, her face contorting to the emotion she feels. he puts a hand on her shoulder. "can we go somewhere? just to talk. please."
"alright," she says. "there's something i should tell you anyways."
--
claire's cell phone buzzes in her pocket, but she ignores it. her mother wouldn't approve of her talking to her father. her mother would tell her not to get close, they'll only hurt you in the end. she listens to peter talk in his excited way of how it all began-- his dreams of falling and nathan catching him, the car accident with heidi and meeting issac mendez. he says names of people she doesn't know and will never meet, and she doesn't try to keep up. she's only interested in one person, her father, and even though she knows he doesn't owe her anything, there's a small hope that maybe things can be different.
after all, he did come all this way. to save her.
"but i can't die," she says. "i heal-- from any wound. believe me, i've had my share of near death experiences."
"but the paintings..." he says, and claire shrugs.
they're walking on a side street, staying away from the main roads and the crowds in order to not be overheard. claire's skin prickles and nathan feels it too when he says they should get going. the three of them turn around to head back to safety, when they are confronted with the man in black himself.
"hello, claire."
her face drains of color and her heart skips a beat. peter stands instinctively in front of her, but she grabs his arm. "no, that's him! that's the man who killed charlie."
"sylar," nathan says out loud, and his fists clench at his side. "peter, take her away."
peter grabs claire by the waist and ignores her protests to let go. he closes his eyes and concentrates, but nothing happens. nathan is yelling at him, claire is fighting him, and the man in black is getting closer. "i can't," he says. "nathan, it's not working. i can't fly!"
sylar sends peter's body flying into a brick wall with a flick of his wrist, and claire goes with him, his arms still wrapped tightly against her stomach. sylar smiles. "and you call yourselves heroes," he says darkly.
he looks at the girl, her head gushing blood and leg bent painfully backwards. he watches, amusingly, as she coughs and twists her body parts back to their rightful place, the bruises and blood and scars disappearing within seconds. "oh," he says, and looks on admiringly. "how i can't wait to take that ability."
"over my dead body," nathan quips, and flies toward sylar at full speed. but sylar stops him with his telekinesis and slams his back against the near wall, holding him there. frozen in fear.
"nathan..." claire breathes, watching.
sylar begins to make an incision in his brain, the excitement and screams making his body tingle. nathan's eyes roll back in his head before he hears peter yell "no!" and somehow, sylar is sent soaring away from them. nathan's body falls to the ground, released from the invisible hold as claire and peter run over to him.
"i'm okay, i'm okay," he repeats, and dabs at the small incision in his skull. blood covers his fingertips. "how the hell did you do that?" he asks.
peter's eyes are filled with fear and surprise. "i have no idea."
the three of them turn their heads as they see sylar stand, regaining strength in his body. the end is coming, and peter can feel it. "nate, go. take her and go. i'll hold him off." his voice is hurried, strained and he knows nathan is trying to fight it. "go!" he yells once more, and watches him pick up his daughter and soar ahead into the clouds.
"what are you doing?" claire yells. "you can't just leave him! he'll die!"
"i have to," nathan says, more to himself. "i'm protecting you, claire. i'm doing the one thing that matters. peter knows it. he'll be okay."
"no, he won't!" claire screams. "you saw what that monster did. he almost killed you!"
nathan flies higher and higher until the clouds are below them and he can't see the ground and the massacre on the streets below. in a decision to protect his family, he feels as though he failed. "c'mon, pete," he says under his breath, waiting, hoping. they float there indefinitely, waiting for a sign, and it feels like forever.
"we have to go back," claire says. "we can't just leave him."
--
on the lonely back streets of midland, texas, sylar stands over peter's broken body. he himself is bruised and bleeding, happily surprised at peter's ability to mimic other's powers. he's never had such a fight, had never been tested or willfully opposed. sylar holds the top of peter's skull in one hand, and feels around his brain with the other. he smiles and closes his eyes. "yes," he says. "there."
when he replaces the top of his skull, peter's eyes fill with color, the incision line disappears and he wakes, gasping for air. "how... what did you do?" he breathes, shaking. "why didn't you kill me?"
sylar smiles and wipes his bloodied hands. "and take away all the fun we'll have?" he shakes his head. "no. no, thanks to you, i won't ever have to kill again. i can take as many powers as i want, just by finding them."
peter's eyes fill with fear.
sylar laughs. "i'll be the most special of them all."
fin.
a/n: i apologize for being a tad late. somehow, my email deleted the original assignment and i only received my prompt last week. my requester asked for a plot-fueled story and so i tried my best to deliver that and in a timely manner. i wish i could have developed a romantic/sexual undertone for our pairing, but i didn't feel like it fit within the timeline and situation i created. anyways, i hope you all enjoyed.
heroes. alt. universe. ensemble.
pg13, for violence. some references to season one.
uncle flint used to say that people were always good for two things: money and stupidity. claire tries to argue, but she's seen too many things that only exemplify those facts. for verstehen.
prompt: how would claire be different if she grew up with meredith? how does she meet sylar?
uncle flint used to say that people were always good for two things: money and stupidity. claire tries to argue, but she's seen too many things that only exemplify those facts. it was usually the first part that made them stupid, although in flint's case, it just came to him naturally. that's why he was still locked up, while she and her mother lived under the radar, relocating every couple of years or months to keep the company off their backs.
and it was why she was here, now, in new york city, sitting in front of nathan petrelli.
"i'm sorry," he says, "who are you again? you're obviously far too young to be working for any news agency."
she sits back in a metal chair, observes the glass windows behind the desk, and wonders briefly how nathan would look under the bright sunlight. she's studied his picture for weeks-- the strong jaw lines, determined eyes.
"my name is claire. claire gordon."
"gordon," he repeats, and straightens his tie. "doesn't ring a bell. you understand i'm a very busy man-- running for congress and all." he sends her a quick smile, "i don't really have time for girl scouts or whatever you're trying to sell."
claire's lips pout and she wonders for a moment, if dying her hair dark to match his was a mistake. maybe the blonde would have made the name more memberable. maybe if she played more innocent, he'd be willing to listen.
"i'm not selling anything," she says, and gets straight to the point. "i'm your daughter."
there aren't many things that can stop a district attorney in his tracks, not many things he hasn't heard or seen before. a brother who thinks he can fly? that's just comical. but a daughter he never knew existed?
"no," he says, standing to walk to the door. "no, i don't have a daughter. if you'll excuse me--"
"yes," claire insists, locking her jaw and hissing her words out. "you do. my mother's name is meredith. she never told you about me because it didn't matter then. but now..."
claire leaves her words hanging, her intention clear. she cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. nathan shifts his weight and folds his arms, the wheels and gears in his head working to devise a scheme or plan of attack. nathan was always good for fixing things, even if the promises he made were not always kept.
"how much?" he asks quietly.
claire smiles, but the gesture doesn't put him at ease. "one hundred thousand now. another fifty after you win the election."
--
in this life, there is no save the cheerleader, save the world.
but there is a list.
and her name is slowly approaching.
--
three weeks pass before peter comes to him, frantic, eyes brimming with hope and fear and warnings fueled by good intentions. he says there's a girl and she's in danger, and with pete, it's always the same routine played over again.
"i'm serious, nathan. i saw issac yesterday and then last night i could do it. i could paint the future! look--"
he shows nathan the sketch of a strange man hidden in shadows standing in front of a young, timid girl-- her eyes filled with fear and worry. he knows her, recognizes her.
"claire." nathan whispers.
peter's brows furrow. "you know her?"
nathan lets his strong exterior fade for a minute as his eyes become glazed over with mixed emotion. "yes," he says, then-- "no." he pinches the bridge of his nose. he doesn't need this. "look, even if i did, i don't know where to find her, okay? what do you want me to do?"
he starts to walk away but peter stops him. "nate-- look." peter stands in front of him, holding the artwork and pointing to the corner of the page. very small, in very fine detail is a man soaring in the clouds above the scene. "i think that's me," peter says. "i think i'm supposed to save her."
nathan wants to argue-- no, it's me-- but the stronger part of him, the politician, overpowers to say he should stay out of it. he has bigger things to worry about. new york city, linderman, plans for change. he pats peter on the shoulder, winks and says, "okay pete. good luck with that."
he leaves his brother standing alone, while he marches on, trying to get his breathing back to a steady rate.
--
in this story, eden doesn't die.
matt parkman does.
the sylar case remains open, and the remaining FBI agents are all too scared to go after him. they find the body of two agents ripped in half, their brains leaking out onto the floor. but worst of all, was the terror frozen in their eyes, as if they had seen the impossible.
as if they witnessed the devil himself.
noah bennet crosses the name off his list. he nods to the haitian, "i think its time we find the doctor."
--
"mr. petrelli! mr. petrelli, i must speak with you," mohinder attempts to break through the security flanks, as nathan stands behind the safety of his sunglasses, dismissing the man on sight alone. "your life may be in danger," the man shouts. this time, nathan stops.
he pauses, the corners of his lips turning up just slightly to put off the fear behind any and every threat he's received. "i'm sorry," he says, "i didn't get your name."
"suresh. doctor suresh. please, my father was a geneticist, as am i. i believe you may be one of a handful of people, evolved beings who possess great and startling abilities."
nathan attempts to laugh, if anything, for the benefit of the public around him. "right. well... if that ability is to bring change and hope to the great city of new york, then you'd be right. but if you excuse me, i have a flight i need to catch."
mohinder fights against the security and nathan watches him behind the tainted windows of his car. his brother can fly. so can he. he is an evolved being, despite trying everything to remain normal.
"please!" suresh shouts, "there's a list, if you'll just listen to me."
nathan's breath catches in his throat, and his hand jerks out uncontrollably. he rolls down the window. "jacobs, bring him here. and ride with me." one of the security men escorts mohinder into the black SUV, and nathan informs him not to listen to the conversation about to be had. he's stuck on that word, a list, and its far too convenient and close to something like fate, something too close to peter and his optimism and fantasies.
"doctor suresh, is it? what exactly is on this list?"
"names," mohinder explains, "names of individuals and their locations where they can be found. all of them, it seems, were located by my father under a project to identify humans with evolved abilities. mind reading, spontaneous regeneration, telekinesis. they all exist."
nathan holds up a hand to stop him. "my name... is it there?"
"yes, as is your brothers. its why i needed to contact you, warn you. there is a man by the name of sylar hunting down special people and murdering them. you needed to be informed. you could be next."
"sir--" the security man begins to say, but nathan stops him-- "didn't i tell you not to listen to this conversation?"
nathan rubs his temples; this was all too much to take in. if he was discovered, exposed, that could mean the end of his career. he would be a danger to the city, to the government. "i need my name taken off that list," he says.
mohinder's face becomes perplexed. "i can't," he says. "it's already there. and sylar--"
"-- is a threat?"
"very."
nathan wonders, "who else is on that list? gordon. is there anyone by the name of gordon?"
mohinder repeats the name to himself, "yes, yes there are. three of them i believe-- all related."
nathan swallows. "i need to find them. i need to find them right away."
--
peter continues to try and paint the future. when issac disappears, he doesn't take it as a sign. he keeps trying. nathan attempts to track down meredith and claire, but the address suresh gives leads them to a trailer park in tennessee, old and abandoned for years. he needs to find them. needs to find her.
in the back of his head he repeats to himself, i am the flying man.
as if it would help him. as if it would convince himself it was true. he was never a man of faith, always feelings safer to put his money on numbers. but lately the unimaginable had been coming true, and now nathan was being asked to rely on his instincts alone.
he finds peter in his apartment, a blank canvas in front of him.
he leaves the drugs on the counter.
"maybe it will help. i need to find them, pete."
--
claire waits tables in midland, texas as a front for what she and mother do on the side. she's not very good at it, constantly dropping things or knocking them over. she's the definition of clumsy, which only makes it far too ironic that she can heal from any wound. but meredith insists she keeps at it. you can get a job waiting tables anywhere. it'll come in handy one day when i'm gone and you'll be on your own.
that was the first time she really thought about it-- how she'd live forever. how everyone she ever knew would die.
after that, it was easy to become hardened. it was easy not to care. she spent too long living that way to remember what it was like to be normal, to be a carefree teenage girl. she grew up under the instruction not to get too close to anyone. running away was her mother's specialty.
that, and blackmailing men who accidentally killed an young, petite girl whose body was never found or heard of again.
their ploys were simple: find a target, set him up, and then play road kill. meredith would seduce them and take them out on a road trip to the desert. claire would wait and dart out into the dark street, timing it perfectly so the car would hit her, and she would appear dead. the men would panic, and the intense emotions made it all too easy to squeeze out a couple thousand dollars to stay quiet and never mention the "accident" again.
it was easy. it was effective. because after all, people were only good for two things.
claire loses balance while daydreaming and a plate of waffles fall to the floor. her manager gives her a nasty glare, while sweet, innocent charlie giggles from the sidelines.
"i'm sorry," claire says. "ugh, i'm never going to learn."
"it's alright, sweetie. you'll get it sooner or later."
"i should just give up, stop trying. i'm not cut out for this."
charlie smiles, her doe eyes pouring out sympathy. "oh, claire. don't say that. listen, i know a lot about a lot of things, okay? and one of the things i know about is people. why, you're not like anyone else, claire! you could do anything you wanted to, be anyone, so long as you put your mind to it."
claire wishes she wouldn't look at her like that, so full of emotion and friendship. she should know better, should know not to take those words as truths. she can't, because if she was ever found, she'd be taken in and experimented on. she can't play the hero. she can't have friends. she's a fugitive at heart.
"thank you," she says, and her pause is indicative of her guilt. "but... you don't know anything about me."
--
when nathan arrives, peter is curled up on the couch, a blanket around him. his hair dangles in front of his eyes, beads of sweat dab at his forehead.
"where is it?" he asks.
peter points toward the kitchen and nathan walks in to a mess of colors smeared across every surface imaginable. on an easel sits a canvas and the sight alone is enough to make his stomach curl. in a pool of her own blood lies a waitress, face down, the top of her head cut off. the man from the shadows stands over her, guilty of the crime. the colors are all mixed with hues of blue and purple, lights from the street lamps outside the diner the only thing distinguishing the difference of forms.
"claire..." nathan whispers. "is she... is this her?"
peter walks in the room, his eyes still glazed over. "i don't know."
"when does this happen? i don't understand-- does this follow the other one, or proceed it?
"i don't know," peter repeats.
"that's not good enough," nathan snarls, and its odd for peter to see him worked up so much about something he knows so little about.
"we only have one choice," peter says. "we go to texas."
"texas?"
peter points to the glass window of the painting, just over the killer's shoulder. "burnt toast diner," he reads. "i looked it up. it's in midland, texas."
"texas," nathan repeats.
--
she's known for a long time that there were other people like her. she just didn't know how to find them. her mother says whenever a group of them cluster, the company comes and takes them. claire used to have nightmares of the man in horn rimmed glasses. she even has a scar from when she got caught-- a brief encounter, fortunately. her mother escaped and found her. in the process, the paper company burnt down to the ground.
on a tuesday afternoon, claire bumps into a man on her way home from work. she apologizes, and expects him to do the same. he doesn't.
there was something about him that was different, off. he was dressed like a man from the city, not at all like a local or even citizen of texas. she was intrigued, and yet, scared. "i'm sorry," she says, "are you lost?"
he continues to stare at her and it becomes unsettling until he speaks. "actually," he says, "i'm looking for a place. the burnt toast diner?" he reads from a yellow post-it in his hand and tilts his head. "if you could just point me in the right direction..." he says and lets the sentence fade.
claire pauses, unsure. "yeah," she says, and swallows. something about this man says she shouldn't tell the truth. something about him tells her to run. "i think its that way," and points toward east copper street, the opposite direction from the real location.
the man nods once, and walks away.
claire's arms fill with goosebumps and she sprints to her car. she locks the doors as soon as she's inside, as if that would keep her safe. she had no idea who the mysterious man was, and she intended to keep it that way. at times her mother was right-- it was better to stay hidden then get yourself caught.
--
"you know," peter says, buckling the seat belt and arching an eyebrow, "i bet this would be a lot quicker flying the other way."
nathan narrows his eyes and looks around the plane to make sure no one was listening. "i'm not some express ride you can slide a nickel into, pete."
--
after a slight mishap, the man in black sits at the corner table of the diner, and waits.
the girl comes to him, all smiles and sweet eyes asking him what he wants. he smiles, because there's so much she's about to do for him.
contrary to what the others believe, he doesn't enjoy the smell of blood. its sticky and too warm and used to make his stomach knot. but he's gotten used to it. he's gotten used to a lot of things-- one of them the constant ticking of the watch he carries as a reminder of where he came from, who he was.
the other? well, murder.
--
when they finally arrive, they know they're too late.
yellow tape blocks the doorway entrance and police inform the public to keep back a safe distance. they watch as a body is wheeled out beneath a white drape, stained brown and red with blood. photographers inside capture the scene but peter doesn't need to be in there to know what it looks like-- he painted it.
he knows now what he's capable of, that he can predict the future. he could fly too, if only nathan would stay close enough to let him concentrate and practice. but more importantly, peter knows that he has what it takes to be a hero. that he has to fight back. he has to protect people from the monster responsible for this crime.
it takes nathan a long time before he finally speaks.
"i never knew," he says. "she never told me she was pregnant. our relationship was never going to last to begin with but you'd think... and then, she died." he looks at peter, his face more vulnerable than ever before. "i went to her funeral, fourteen years ago. i mourned her. and then out of no where her daughter-- my daughter-- appears."
"nate..." peter tries.
"i should have done more. i should have been there. i never should have let her go."
peter put his hand on his brother's shoulder. he can't tell if he's talking about his ex or his daughter, but at that moment it didn't matter. "it's not your fault. listen to me, there's nothing you could have done, okay? this isn't your..."
peter's words trail off and he tilts his head. his attention is caught elsewhere, out into the crowd of people rushing to the police barriers. there's a girl he's seen from his dreams, short with curly brown hair, a face full of rosy cheeks and green eyes. nathan questions him and peter points toward her direction.
"claire."
--
uncle flint used to say there was no use trying to help other people when you'd only get yourself in trouble in the process. his determination was simple: steal from the rich and take for himself. he liked scaring people, seeing the shadows from the flames dance across their faces. he didn't live the protected life she did, and so claire forgave him for his mistakes and cruelty. he never hurt her or her mother. on the contrary, it was in protecting them that he got himself caught.
a tear falls from the corner of her eye as she watches the police take notes and she can't help but feel responsible. charlie was dead and she knew why-- she knew it was because of the strange man in the street that previous afternoon.
she should have done something. she should have warned her.
she hears her name being called from somewhere in the crowd, and her first reaction is to run. she falls back in to the cover of the crowd and allows herself a glimpse back at her followers. she can't make out their forms very well, but can see a young boy with long black hair running and pushing people out of the way. she continues to hide deeper and her short stature makes it easy to get lost amongst the mass. the boy could be cute, if it weren't for the dried paint on his hands and neck and the look of empathy across his face.
"claire!" the other man shouts, and finally she makes out his form.
"nathan."
confused, she steps toward them, giving away her position and allowing them to find her. "claire, you're alive!" nathan says, and pulls her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.
claire's body freezes, she's not used to such a sentiment. her mother hugs her, sure-- but this. this was new and strange and unreal. "what are you doing here?" she asks. "how did you find me? if this is about the money," and she becomes nervous, defensive and takes a step backward-- "fine. take it back, whatever. just don't--"
"no," peter interrupts, "no, we're here to save you."
claire raises her eyebrows, and laughs. "really? sorry, but i don't know you. and you definitely don't know anything about me. i don't need saving."
"claire," nathan says, "that girl in there? that was supposed to be you." she looks back toward the diner, her face contorting to the emotion she feels. he puts a hand on her shoulder. "can we go somewhere? just to talk. please."
"alright," she says. "there's something i should tell you anyways."
--
claire's cell phone buzzes in her pocket, but she ignores it. her mother wouldn't approve of her talking to her father. her mother would tell her not to get close, they'll only hurt you in the end. she listens to peter talk in his excited way of how it all began-- his dreams of falling and nathan catching him, the car accident with heidi and meeting issac mendez. he says names of people she doesn't know and will never meet, and she doesn't try to keep up. she's only interested in one person, her father, and even though she knows he doesn't owe her anything, there's a small hope that maybe things can be different.
after all, he did come all this way. to save her.
"but i can't die," she says. "i heal-- from any wound. believe me, i've had my share of near death experiences."
"but the paintings..." he says, and claire shrugs.
they're walking on a side street, staying away from the main roads and the crowds in order to not be overheard. claire's skin prickles and nathan feels it too when he says they should get going. the three of them turn around to head back to safety, when they are confronted with the man in black himself.
"hello, claire."
her face drains of color and her heart skips a beat. peter stands instinctively in front of her, but she grabs his arm. "no, that's him! that's the man who killed charlie."
"sylar," nathan says out loud, and his fists clench at his side. "peter, take her away."
peter grabs claire by the waist and ignores her protests to let go. he closes his eyes and concentrates, but nothing happens. nathan is yelling at him, claire is fighting him, and the man in black is getting closer. "i can't," he says. "nathan, it's not working. i can't fly!"
sylar sends peter's body flying into a brick wall with a flick of his wrist, and claire goes with him, his arms still wrapped tightly against her stomach. sylar smiles. "and you call yourselves heroes," he says darkly.
he looks at the girl, her head gushing blood and leg bent painfully backwards. he watches, amusingly, as she coughs and twists her body parts back to their rightful place, the bruises and blood and scars disappearing within seconds. "oh," he says, and looks on admiringly. "how i can't wait to take that ability."
"over my dead body," nathan quips, and flies toward sylar at full speed. but sylar stops him with his telekinesis and slams his back against the near wall, holding him there. frozen in fear.
"nathan..." claire breathes, watching.
sylar begins to make an incision in his brain, the excitement and screams making his body tingle. nathan's eyes roll back in his head before he hears peter yell "no!" and somehow, sylar is sent soaring away from them. nathan's body falls to the ground, released from the invisible hold as claire and peter run over to him.
"i'm okay, i'm okay," he repeats, and dabs at the small incision in his skull. blood covers his fingertips. "how the hell did you do that?" he asks.
peter's eyes are filled with fear and surprise. "i have no idea."
the three of them turn their heads as they see sylar stand, regaining strength in his body. the end is coming, and peter can feel it. "nate, go. take her and go. i'll hold him off." his voice is hurried, strained and he knows nathan is trying to fight it. "go!" he yells once more, and watches him pick up his daughter and soar ahead into the clouds.
"what are you doing?" claire yells. "you can't just leave him! he'll die!"
"i have to," nathan says, more to himself. "i'm protecting you, claire. i'm doing the one thing that matters. peter knows it. he'll be okay."
"no, he won't!" claire screams. "you saw what that monster did. he almost killed you!"
nathan flies higher and higher until the clouds are below them and he can't see the ground and the massacre on the streets below. in a decision to protect his family, he feels as though he failed. "c'mon, pete," he says under his breath, waiting, hoping. they float there indefinitely, waiting for a sign, and it feels like forever.
"we have to go back," claire says. "we can't just leave him."
--
on the lonely back streets of midland, texas, sylar stands over peter's broken body. he himself is bruised and bleeding, happily surprised at peter's ability to mimic other's powers. he's never had such a fight, had never been tested or willfully opposed. sylar holds the top of peter's skull in one hand, and feels around his brain with the other. he smiles and closes his eyes. "yes," he says. "there."
when he replaces the top of his skull, peter's eyes fill with color, the incision line disappears and he wakes, gasping for air. "how... what did you do?" he breathes, shaking. "why didn't you kill me?"
sylar smiles and wipes his bloodied hands. "and take away all the fun we'll have?" he shakes his head. "no. no, thanks to you, i won't ever have to kill again. i can take as many powers as i want, just by finding them."
peter's eyes fill with fear.
sylar laughs. "i'll be the most special of them all."
fin.
a/n: i apologize for being a tad late. somehow, my email deleted the original assignment and i only received my prompt last week. my requester asked for a plot-fueled story and so i tried my best to deliver that and in a timely manner. i wish i could have developed a romantic/sexual undertone for our pairing, but i didn't feel like it fit within the timeline and situation i created. anyways, i hope you all enjoyed.