fic: Darkness Itself
Title: Darkness Itself
Characters/Pairings: Noah Bennet, Elle Bishop, Sylar
Word Count: 740
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence
Spoiler alert: None
Summary: Noah and Elle are hunting down a special, but someone is hunting them.
Noah stopped as he passed through the hotel’s back-up kitchen. Elle continued racing after their quarry, either not noticing or not concerned she no longer had backup.
Noah glanced over his shoulder. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t one of them, but he swore he sensed something. Something familiar.
The only light in the kitchen came from the assortment of microwaves, clocks, timers, and the faint light from the hall. He lifted his gun and peered into the shadows, trying to discern one from the other.
He heard footsteps behind him and spun, aiming the gun at another shadow that looked like a dishwasher. He quelled the urge to curse and forced himself to remain calm. He hated being played with, but if he could just catch the bastard and put a bullet in him...
He nearly squeezed the trigger and shot a deep fryer when he heard a scream. Trying to keep most of his attention on the kitchen, he turned his head slightly to look the way Elle had run, hoping that had been someone else screaming.
The hum of the machines around him died, and he cursed, hesitating. Maybe she had got the special, and he’d be letting a much bigger monster go for nothing. But Elle was one of the Founder’s children, not to mention his partner. If she hadn’t got the special, at the very least, Noah was going to get blamed. More intense scrutiny on him might mean more intense scrutiny for his family, too, and he couldn’t have them near Claire.
He stumbled out of the kitchen, blinking as the emergency generator kicked in. Being able to see again didn’t mean he knew where the two had gone in the labyrinthine passageways, though, and he could only wander down the hall, growing more anxious, until he saw an overturned plant. He ran toward it and forced himself to slowly push open the heavy service door.
The light bulbs in the room had all blown, but the glass ceiling allowed enough moonlight in that Noah could see the pool and the shapes of pale patio furniture. He pointed his gun at the figure on the other side of the pool, bent down to hold Elle beneath the water. The shards of glass scritched against the concrete floor as he opened the door wider to fire, the shot going wild.
Noah was yanked backward by his ankle and dragged back through the service door. He barely got his arm inside before the door closed on it and twisted to see who had grabbed him. He frowned at the plant that had led him to the door, now four times as big and crawling up Noah’s leg with vines it hadn’t had before. He grunted as his ankle began to sting and tried to kick the plant off with his free leg, his mind spinning to determine the best way to beat it.
The door opened, and the man stumbled toward him. He clutched his bleeding shoulder as he stared at Noah. “Why are you doing this? That other one, the girl, she attacked me, too. Why did she attack me? Why are you doing this?”
“Stay back,” Noah warned. The plant had his other leg now and was spouting flowers like small Venus flytraps. He didn’t want to see what they might do if they got farther.
“Why would you do that?” the man pressed.
Noah lifted his gun in a fluid movement and shot the man between the eyes, waiting until he was sure the man was dead before wrestling the plant off of him and shoving his way through the door again.
He frowned. Elle lay in a puddle beside the pool, and wet footprints led toward the door behind her. He kept his eye on it as he knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. He relaxed as he felt one, still strong despite her raspy breathing, and bent to pick her up.
She coughed and stirred, her eyes confused as they wandered from him to the pool. Her voice was weak but dry as she muttered, “Aww, Noah. Did you save me?”
He looked down at the girl who had helped him create a monster. “Of course.”
When Noah returned to his room that night, tired from having dealt with the clean-up, he found a note beside his phone. “Better luck next time. - S.”
Characters/Pairings: Noah Bennet, Elle Bishop, Sylar
Word Count: 740
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence
Spoiler alert: None
Summary: Noah and Elle are hunting down a special, but someone is hunting them.
Noah stopped as he passed through the hotel’s back-up kitchen. Elle continued racing after their quarry, either not noticing or not concerned she no longer had backup.
Noah glanced over his shoulder. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t one of them, but he swore he sensed something. Something familiar.
The only light in the kitchen came from the assortment of microwaves, clocks, timers, and the faint light from the hall. He lifted his gun and peered into the shadows, trying to discern one from the other.
He heard footsteps behind him and spun, aiming the gun at another shadow that looked like a dishwasher. He quelled the urge to curse and forced himself to remain calm. He hated being played with, but if he could just catch the bastard and put a bullet in him...
He nearly squeezed the trigger and shot a deep fryer when he heard a scream. Trying to keep most of his attention on the kitchen, he turned his head slightly to look the way Elle had run, hoping that had been someone else screaming.
The hum of the machines around him died, and he cursed, hesitating. Maybe she had got the special, and he’d be letting a much bigger monster go for nothing. But Elle was one of the Founder’s children, not to mention his partner. If she hadn’t got the special, at the very least, Noah was going to get blamed. More intense scrutiny on him might mean more intense scrutiny for his family, too, and he couldn’t have them near Claire.
He stumbled out of the kitchen, blinking as the emergency generator kicked in. Being able to see again didn’t mean he knew where the two had gone in the labyrinthine passageways, though, and he could only wander down the hall, growing more anxious, until he saw an overturned plant. He ran toward it and forced himself to slowly push open the heavy service door.
The light bulbs in the room had all blown, but the glass ceiling allowed enough moonlight in that Noah could see the pool and the shapes of pale patio furniture. He pointed his gun at the figure on the other side of the pool, bent down to hold Elle beneath the water. The shards of glass scritched against the concrete floor as he opened the door wider to fire, the shot going wild.
Noah was yanked backward by his ankle and dragged back through the service door. He barely got his arm inside before the door closed on it and twisted to see who had grabbed him. He frowned at the plant that had led him to the door, now four times as big and crawling up Noah’s leg with vines it hadn’t had before. He grunted as his ankle began to sting and tried to kick the plant off with his free leg, his mind spinning to determine the best way to beat it.
The door opened, and the man stumbled toward him. He clutched his bleeding shoulder as he stared at Noah. “Why are you doing this? That other one, the girl, she attacked me, too. Why did she attack me? Why are you doing this?”
“Stay back,” Noah warned. The plant had his other leg now and was spouting flowers like small Venus flytraps. He didn’t want to see what they might do if they got farther.
“Why would you do that?” the man pressed.
Noah lifted his gun in a fluid movement and shot the man between the eyes, waiting until he was sure the man was dead before wrestling the plant off of him and shoving his way through the door again.
He frowned. Elle lay in a puddle beside the pool, and wet footprints led toward the door behind her. He kept his eye on it as he knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. He relaxed as he felt one, still strong despite her raspy breathing, and bent to pick her up.
She coughed and stirred, her eyes confused as they wandered from him to the pool. Her voice was weak but dry as she muttered, “Aww, Noah. Did you save me?”
He looked down at the girl who had helped him create a monster. “Of course.”
When Noah returned to his room that night, tired from having dealt with the clean-up, he found a note beside his phone. “Better luck next time. - S.”