Fic: The Ghosts of Monsters Never Fade
Title: The Ghosts of Monsters Never Fade
Characters/Pairings: Angela; Sylar/Elle; Claude, Peter
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,063
Warnings: Clear
Spoiler alert: Covers S1-post S4
Summary: Characters reflect on the past and the future. The word count is too high for the summary to be so boring, but that's essentially what it is.
“A foolish heart has hindsight for eyes.” - Anonymous
“In today’s complex and fast-moving world, what we need even more than foresight or hindsight is insight.” - Anonymous
“Mentor: Someone whose hindsight can become your foresight.” - Anonymous
When she was young, Angela had never put much stock in hindsight. The past was the past, and she was living for the future. It was all about what could be done in the present for the people of the future. That was what mattered.
It was only as she got older that she started having doubts. No, no, it wasn’t as she got older. She’d always had doubts about what she and the Company were doing, but she had been so sure she was doing what was right, so caught up in rhetoric and fervor, that she hadn’t paid them any attention. And now that the Company had changed and disappeared and reformed and changed again, now that its principles had arisen in shadowy organization after shadowy organization, she couldn’t help but think maybe there was a reason it kept failing. As if the universe saw it as a monster to be destroyed time and time again.
Charles had told her once that Peter would save them all. Peter, the son she had always loved but often looked down on. And hadn’t Charles been right? It was Peter and his empathy that had made him strong, that had beaten and ultimately saved Sylar. While Angela had spent years marking and controlling specials and hiding the skeletons under the rug, Peter was the one who had saved lives.
She had always been proud of him for that, for his strength in defying his family to do what was right. It had given her such a headache at the time, and sometimes, she had wanted to wring his neck. But the older she got, the more she thought that perhaps she had simply been afraid of change.
The older she got, the more she suspected Peter had been right all along.
It gave her hope, though, knowing Peter would continue helping people after she was gone. It surprised her, sometimes, to get to know the people behind the abilities. Always before, she had defined them by their ability and whether or not they could be of use. Now she was finding that she liked them - some more than others, of course. Sometimes she would joke to herself that it was some form of dementia.
But no, she knew better. The truth was, she had been a fool all along.
“I used to think of killing you.” He glanced at the speedometer and wished she could keep it under the speed limit. He looked outside and tried not to think about it - the last time he’d said something, Elle had bitched at him for three miles straight, but it had felt longer. It was the realization that he was on his way to being hen-pecked that had turned his thoughts down a darker path.
“I still think of killing you,” she teased.
He rolled his eyes. “As if you could.”
She grinned and shifted in her seat. He’d noticed that she hated to keep still, even to drive. “Still a nice thought.”
“We’re so messed up,” he muttered, not feeling too upset about it. Hen-pecked or not, he felt happier than he had in months, more hopeful, and was it just his imagination, or had Elle been glancing at him the way he’d seen people in movies do?
“Do you hate me for… you know. Back then?”
He frowned and turned to her. “Hate you for what?”
“What the Company made me do when we met.”
He didn’t answer right away. That was a mine field, and they both knew it. “I was messed up before that, Elle. I had plastic on my furniture, for God’s sake.”
She shrugged. “I liked it, though. Maybe not the plastic, because yeah, that was weird. But the picnic was nice.”
“Elle, we ate on the floor. Normal people don’t eat on the floor.”
She grinned wryly, as if she knew a secret no one else even imagined, a private joke all her own. He wondered what went on in that head of hers. “But that’s the thing, Gabriel. We aren’t normal. Never have been, never will be.” She paused. “What do you think you’ll do when you’re done working for Arthur?”
“I don’t know. He’s my dad. Father and son stuff?” God, that sounded ridiculous.
“Normal father and son stuff?” Her lips twisted upwards at the corners.
He shrugged. “Weird father and son stuff.” He grinned and looked out the window again. “I think,” he said slowly, “I’m going to do what I usually do and take things as they come.”
“Live in the present,” she said with a nod.
“More than that. Try to understand it.” He looked at her as he said it, because Elle was the part of the present he wanted to understand, with her secret smiles and wry sarcasms. He didn’t understand her at all, and as much as he wanted to remember that picnic on his living room floor, or dream about maybe taking her to dinner, they both knew how easily they could snap and try to kill each other.
And they both knew that Sylar was the one who would walk away.
Claude had made his share of mistakes in his time. Trusting people too much, trusting the wrong people, signing up with the wrong people, getting caught...
And now he was stuck with this pup pulling at his heartstrings. Angela’s son. The one she’d never seemed to be keen on. Claude could remember how hopeful Arthur had been that his second child would powerful. Good thing the bloke hadn’t lived long enough to see Peter now.
Not that Peter looked powerful right now. He looked a bit like a baby, actually, conked out on the ground like that.
But Peter was powerful. And more importantly, he wasn’t anything like his monstrous parents. He wanted to help people, like Claude had wanted to do.
And Claude didn’t want Peter to turn out like him.
He sighed and lifted Peter’s head enough to wedge a coat underneath. The mite would learn to respect the stick and get control of himself soon enough. And with luck, Peter wouldn’t make the same mistakes Claude had.
Characters/Pairings: Angela; Sylar/Elle; Claude, Peter
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,063
Warnings: Clear
Spoiler alert: Covers S1-post S4
Summary: Characters reflect on the past and the future. The word count is too high for the summary to be so boring, but that's essentially what it is.
“A foolish heart has hindsight for eyes.” - Anonymous
“In today’s complex and fast-moving world, what we need even more than foresight or hindsight is insight.” - Anonymous
“Mentor: Someone whose hindsight can become your foresight.” - Anonymous
When she was young, Angela had never put much stock in hindsight. The past was the past, and she was living for the future. It was all about what could be done in the present for the people of the future. That was what mattered.
It was only as she got older that she started having doubts. No, no, it wasn’t as she got older. She’d always had doubts about what she and the Company were doing, but she had been so sure she was doing what was right, so caught up in rhetoric and fervor, that she hadn’t paid them any attention. And now that the Company had changed and disappeared and reformed and changed again, now that its principles had arisen in shadowy organization after shadowy organization, she couldn’t help but think maybe there was a reason it kept failing. As if the universe saw it as a monster to be destroyed time and time again.
Charles had told her once that Peter would save them all. Peter, the son she had always loved but often looked down on. And hadn’t Charles been right? It was Peter and his empathy that had made him strong, that had beaten and ultimately saved Sylar. While Angela had spent years marking and controlling specials and hiding the skeletons under the rug, Peter was the one who had saved lives.
She had always been proud of him for that, for his strength in defying his family to do what was right. It had given her such a headache at the time, and sometimes, she had wanted to wring his neck. But the older she got, the more she thought that perhaps she had simply been afraid of change.
The older she got, the more she suspected Peter had been right all along.
It gave her hope, though, knowing Peter would continue helping people after she was gone. It surprised her, sometimes, to get to know the people behind the abilities. Always before, she had defined them by their ability and whether or not they could be of use. Now she was finding that she liked them - some more than others, of course. Sometimes she would joke to herself that it was some form of dementia.
But no, she knew better. The truth was, she had been a fool all along.
“I used to think of killing you.” He glanced at the speedometer and wished she could keep it under the speed limit. He looked outside and tried not to think about it - the last time he’d said something, Elle had bitched at him for three miles straight, but it had felt longer. It was the realization that he was on his way to being hen-pecked that had turned his thoughts down a darker path.
“I still think of killing you,” she teased.
He rolled his eyes. “As if you could.”
She grinned and shifted in her seat. He’d noticed that she hated to keep still, even to drive. “Still a nice thought.”
“We’re so messed up,” he muttered, not feeling too upset about it. Hen-pecked or not, he felt happier than he had in months, more hopeful, and was it just his imagination, or had Elle been glancing at him the way he’d seen people in movies do?
“Do you hate me for… you know. Back then?”
He frowned and turned to her. “Hate you for what?”
“What the Company made me do when we met.”
He didn’t answer right away. That was a mine field, and they both knew it. “I was messed up before that, Elle. I had plastic on my furniture, for God’s sake.”
She shrugged. “I liked it, though. Maybe not the plastic, because yeah, that was weird. But the picnic was nice.”
“Elle, we ate on the floor. Normal people don’t eat on the floor.”
She grinned wryly, as if she knew a secret no one else even imagined, a private joke all her own. He wondered what went on in that head of hers. “But that’s the thing, Gabriel. We aren’t normal. Never have been, never will be.” She paused. “What do you think you’ll do when you’re done working for Arthur?”
“I don’t know. He’s my dad. Father and son stuff?” God, that sounded ridiculous.
“Normal father and son stuff?” Her lips twisted upwards at the corners.
He shrugged. “Weird father and son stuff.” He grinned and looked out the window again. “I think,” he said slowly, “I’m going to do what I usually do and take things as they come.”
“Live in the present,” she said with a nod.
“More than that. Try to understand it.” He looked at her as he said it, because Elle was the part of the present he wanted to understand, with her secret smiles and wry sarcasms. He didn’t understand her at all, and as much as he wanted to remember that picnic on his living room floor, or dream about maybe taking her to dinner, they both knew how easily they could snap and try to kill each other.
And they both knew that Sylar was the one who would walk away.
Claude had made his share of mistakes in his time. Trusting people too much, trusting the wrong people, signing up with the wrong people, getting caught...
And now he was stuck with this pup pulling at his heartstrings. Angela’s son. The one she’d never seemed to be keen on. Claude could remember how hopeful Arthur had been that his second child would powerful. Good thing the bloke hadn’t lived long enough to see Peter now.
Not that Peter looked powerful right now. He looked a bit like a baby, actually, conked out on the ground like that.
But Peter was powerful. And more importantly, he wasn’t anything like his monstrous parents. He wanted to help people, like Claude had wanted to do.
And Claude didn’t want Peter to turn out like him.
He sighed and lifted Peter’s head enough to wedge a coat underneath. The mite would learn to respect the stick and get control of himself soon enough. And with luck, Peter wouldn’t make the same mistakes Claude had.