sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:52 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:52 am
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The Hiatus Continuations: Deleted Scenes
Originally posted 4.20.07
The following two images were two of the three that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
utility_knife sent me as potential images for the Peter-Sylar explosion. The notebook-paper image was the one he originally selected, and I agree that aesthetically speaking it is the best of the three. However, one of the other images seemed to fit the mood of the story and the theme better, so I ended up selecting that one for use in the final product.
utility_knife has also posted some versions of posted art, including a lovely ink of the Claude-holding-Peter drawing, here. :)
Originally, after Peter went up in flames Bennet was supposed to find Claire in the hospital. This didn't work for several reasons -- one, there were too many people discovering too many things at once, and two, Claude fucking disappeared. There was no other in-character reaction he could have had, but it took him out of the action and made it very difficult to bring him around to a point where he and Bennet could talk logically about Claude taking on leadership of the new company.
I cannibalised it, using large chunks in the end product, but I couldn't quite bear to get rid of the scenes in case I wanted to go back to them. So here they are. The parts I used are italicised, for fun.
MATT AND BENNET - MANHATTAN
The first half of this scene has gone mysteriously missing. I think the fanfic gnomes stole it.
"You didn't see the screaming guy who disappeared?" Matt asked.
"Come on."
They burst into the warehouse and Bennet didn't bother with the niceties; he picked up a syringe and jabbed it into Isaac's arm.
"Wake up now," he said, shaking the man off the bed. He grabbed Isaac by both shoulders and looked into those blank white eyes. "My daughter. I saw her. See what I saw. Find her, Isaac. Find her now."
Isaac staggered wearily to a new canvas, but he didn't pick up a brush; instead he dipped two fingers into a can of paint and smeared a dark black streak across the white space. Bennet shook him.
"Goddamn you!" he shouted, and Isaac brushed him aside, pressing his palm into a half-dried puddle of yellow and smearing that across the canvas as well.
Then he seemed to check himself and, blearily, lifted his black-covered fingers again. Below the smears he managed a word, Hospital.
"Oh god," Bennet breathed. Isaac continued, drawing a goopy, finger-painted sketch in one corner. Some kind of figure with two lines twining around it -- no, a woman, and those were the snakes of the caduceus.
Bennet shoved Isaac aside and ripped the canvas, tearing the symbol away from the frame and the rest of the painting.
"We need to find it," he said.
***
MATT, BENNET, AND JACK - GRACE HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM
Bennet knew that he couldn't come in shouting for Claire, or security would be after him before he had a chance of finding her. So he didn't; he prowled through the waiting room like a predator and bypassed the receiving station as if he owned it. Matt followed, silent and worried; the tension was coming off him in waves that you didn't need to be psychic to feel.
He almost passed the young man sitting on a hospital bed in the corridor, holding an icepack to his cheek. Almost.
The boy looked up when Bennet grabbed his arm and pulled him off the bed; he flinched back and tried to pull away, but Bennet was a grown man and the boy couldn't be more than eighteen, if that.
"You," they said in unison.
"You're the finder," Bennet growled. "What did you do to my daughter?"
Jack, that was his name, Jack Baker, the Sector working with Nakamura. He shook the boy, who was staring at him in shock. "Where is she?"
He pointed mutely down the hall, then slipped around Bennet and began walking, the ice pack still held to his jaw. Bennet followed, ready to chase the kid down and kill him if he tried to run.
And then suddenly, there she was. Sitting in a hospital waiting lounge, the fluorescents turning her hair deep orange.
"Claire," he said, and she looked up and smiled and then she was in his arms.
His daughter, his only link left to sanity. In his arms. Real and crying into his shirt and -- no, that was him trembling, not her.
The world narrowed down to the warmth of his daughter, safe and crying in his arms.
"It's okay," he heard himself say. "Dad's here now."
"Bennet," Parkman said warily.
Slowly he became aware that he was surrounded.
Standing in front of him, jaw set and face unreadable, was Senator Nathan Petrelli, the politician who could fly. Next to him was Jack, the ice pack now hefted menacingly in one hand.
The third man, standing next to Jack, raised Bennet's own pistol and cocked it at his head.
"Give me a reason," Claude Rains said.
***
NATHAN, CLAIRE, CLAUDE, JACK, BENNET, AND PARKMAN - GRACE HOSPITAL - NYC
"Claude," Bennet said, not letting go of Claire. "You can shoot me but you're not taking her away."
"Nobody's gonna shoot anyone, are they?" Matt asked. "There's a lot of innocent people in this hospital. Let's all just stop and take a moment."
"Claude, put the gun down," Claire said, turning in Bennet's arms but not leaving them. Nathan raised a hand and reached across Jack, resting it on the gun. Slowly, he lowered it. Claude clicked the safety on.
"Let her go," he said.
"Claude -- "
"Let her go," Claude repeated, and Bennet's arms loosened of their own accord. He'd -- he'd just been Spoken.
By Claude.
"Um," Jack said, and everyone looked at him. He glanced around, as if he wasn't expecting all the attention. "So. Uh. You know me, and I guess you two probably know each other 'cause you don't see that kind of ugly without knowing a person -- "
"Shut up," Bennet said through clenched teeth.
"No thanks," Jack replied. "Mr. Petrelli, this is Mr. Bennet. He's Claire's father. Mr. Bennet, this is Senator Petrelli. He's, um, also Claire's father."
Bennet met the flying man's gaze.
"I don't know who that dude behind Mr. Bennet is," Jack continued, "But he seems like maybe we should listen to him, 'cause obviously he's the only one who doesn't wanna kill someone right now."
"Mr. Bennet," Petrelli said slowly. "Let's have a seat, shall we?"
The senator gestured at the chairs. Claire kept hold of his hand and sat next to him, which made a brief flash of bitter jealousy cross Nathan Petrelli's face. Claude didn't sit; he stood behind Petrelli, the gun half-hidden but still prominent by his side.
"Try it and you'll live to regret it, fat man," Claude said, when Matt edged closer to him. He'd grown a beard, just like in the painting. It didn't suit him.
"He's from the Company," Bennet said, nodding at Jack. "He's here in New York to find Claire."
"How...the hell...?" Jack squinted at him.
"You're working with Yamagoto industries, aren't you? Your Japanese bodyguards?"
"I'm not with any company," Jack retorted. "Jesus, I'm seventeen, do I look like the man for the job to you?"
[footnote: Jack's last line of dialogue makes me incoherently happy for some reason, and I'm depressed I couldn't work it into the fic.]
"It's a game," Claude said to Bennet. "You're here to bring her in. And me, if you get half the chance. Which you won't."
"I'm not with the Company anymore," Bennet said.
"I told you he wasn't like that," Claire said to Claude.
"So," Nathan said, "We've established that nobody's from any kind of company and nobody actually wants to take Claire anywhere. Claude, put the gun away."
"Not on your life. I've been shot once, it's not happening again."
"Well, you're the only armed man in the room, so if you do get shot it's your own damn fault," Bennet said angrily. Claude turned a look on him that was pure, unadulterated disgust. But he did slip the revolver into his pocket.
"Then why are you here?" Claude asked.
"To find my daughter."
Petrelli gave him another look, but this time it was tinged with pity. Bennet didn't want his pity, but if it got him Claire he'd take it and beg for more.
"Let's give him a minute, huh guys?" he said, jerking his head at Jack. Jack disappeared into a room nearby -- a room where the younger Petrelli brother was lying in a hospital bed. Time to ask about that later.
"I'm stayin'," Claude said.
"Come on," Nathan urged.
"He may be your father but he killed me seven years ago, so you'll excuse me if I don't place absolute trust in the man," Claude said to Claire.
"It's okay," Claire said to Nathan. To her father. By blood. Bennet hated him already. "Claude can stay. He might help."
"If he stays, I stay," Matt said. "Evens out the odds."
"How d'ye figure that?" Claude demanded.
"Just try ordering Bennet again and watch what I can do," Matt said. Good man, Matt. Finally growing a spine.
"How are you?" he asked Claire, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "How long have you been here?"
"Since I left," she said. "I'm okay. Really. Nathan looked after me. Claude too," she added.
"Thank you," Bennet said. Claude grunted.
"And Jack...he came all the way from California to find me," she added.
"Why?"
"Nobody knows. Not even Jack," she said, and giggled a little, a laugh on the verge of hysteria. "Dad, I missed you -- "
"I missed you too. Like crazy. I was so worried they'd get you before I could." Bennet hugged her against his shoulder, kissing the top of her head. "I won't send you away again. I promise. I'm done with the company."
"Where are mom and Lyle?" Claire asked. "Are they okay? Do they miss me?"
Bennet bit down hard on his immediate reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claude flinch.
"They -- we can talk about them later. Don't worry. What matters is you're safe and I've got you here, okay?"
She nodded. Bennet looked up and saw that Claude knew. Somehow, he'd --
He'd read Bennet's mind.
"Claire-bear, why don't you go tell Mr. Petrelli I'm not going to hurt you," he suggested. She nodded, sniffling, and got up from her chair. "I think Claude and I need to talk."
When she was gone -- through the doorway into Peter Petrelli's room, where Jack jumped up from a chair to make room for her, Bennet turned to Claude.
"You're an Empath," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Your wife and son are dead," Claude replied.
"You lied to me -- for eight years -- you lied to the Company -- "
"Better than being an experiment," Claude said. "Better than being a Procedure."
"Wait, hold on," Matt interrupted. "What's an Empath?"
"He can do what you can do," Bennet said, but he didn't take his eyes off Claude.
"And more," Claude said, and disappeared.
"Claude! CLAUDE!"
An orderly, pushing a cart of medical supplies, stopped to stare at him.
"Tourette's," Matt said, slapping Bennet's back. "It's under control."
The orderly nodded and moved on. Matt closed his eyes tightly.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bennet hissed.
"Dampening."
"It's too late. It doesn't work on this," Bennet replied. He looked at the empty space where Claude had stood. He thought he saw a drapery move on its own, somewhere down the hallway. "He's gone."
These two scenes with Jack have no set time period -- they were supposed to happen at some point after chapter twenty, but both were written sort of vaguely, more to get them out of my head than anything else. The first scene was also cut because it didn't fit neatly into the "six" theme of the epilogue.
JACK BENNET AND SIMON PORTER
Jack wasn't sure his nerves could take this.
He sat in the warehouse, stretching the sleeves of his thermal shirt over his hands, twisting and untwisting the cuffs. It wasn't that he was afraid of Simon, exactly. He'd met the guy several times and knew Simon was an okay kind of person. But he also knew what Simon had done to Peter in the course of their training, and he really wasn't interested in having seven kinds of shit kicked out of him.
Peter had told him that Simon would help him, that Simon liked teaching, but Peter had a somewhat unfocused view of the world, in Jack's opinion. And Peter had been the one who had sat down with Jack a few days ago and told him that Simon was interested in taking on new students.
Peter himself wasn't at the Warehouse; he was helping Claire box up her stuff to move it to the Petrelli family estate, which was fucking huge. Jack had been worried about the whole stepmom issue, but seriously, he wasn't sure Claire would ever even see Heidi Petrelli in that maze.
Nope, now it was just him, waiting in this third-floor room for Simon while construction began below.
"Mornin," someone said, and Jack looked up and all around. Nobody in the room. Well, probably Simon in the room, considering. The Invisible man.
Jack focused quickly and turned to face where Simon would be, if Simon were visible. And then Simon was visible. He was also carrying a paper sack. Jack eyed it cautiously.
Simon came forward and picked up a chair, turning it around to sit on it backwards. He tossed the sack on the table.
"Breakfast," he said. "Eat."
Jack peered into the bag and came out with a bagel and a little squishy packet of cream cheese. Cautiously, he tore the packet open and squeezed it onto the bread.
"Morning," he said, trying to sound calm.
"Breathe, infant," Simon said. "You're makin' me antsy. It don't do to have many secrets around a telepath."
Jack nodded, not looking up at him. "I'm pretty obvious, huh?"
"Just a bit."
"I'm just not into the whole having my ass kicked thing," Jack answered.
"Believe it or not, I'm not particularly fond of that approach," Simon replied. Jack glanced up. "That's not what we're here to do."
"But Peter said -- "
"Oi, listen up," Simon interrupted. "You're my student, not Petrelli's. Not either of the Petrellis'. Until you learn how to properly think for yourself, your gospels come from me, right?"
"Yessir," Jack said.
"Now," Simon said, and then asked something Jack hadn't been expecting. "Where're your parents?"
"Ojai," Jack answered.
"They know where you are?"
"Sure, I called them."
"And they think of all this...?"
Jack frowned. "They said if I was old enough to fend for myself I was old enough to do what I wanted. Dad says I should get my GED, though."
"Right then. This afternoon, you'll start studyin' for that."
"Okay," Jack said meekly.
"So you're a Sector. Never trained one o'those before. What is it you think you'll do with all this power?" Simon asked. Jack chewed, thinking.
"Well, I thought, there's two options, you know?" he said. "I mean, there's philanthropy and that's great and all but it doesn't really make me happy. In a career kind of way."
Simon just stared at him, so Jack tried to elaborate.
"Like, I could be a firefighter. Or get into search and rescue. I'd be really good at that, wouldn't I? But it's not really what I want to do. Not for life."
"And what's that then?"
Jack shrugged. "I kinda thought being an archaeologist might be fun."
Simon looked like he was trying not to smile. "Archaeology. Bones and rocks and things."
"Yeah. Or someone who does research. For things. But right now..." Jack took another bite. "I should help out here, shouldn't I? I came all the way here for a reason. And we have to look out for us. And I liked it, you know. Finding people. So I though, maybe, some kind of company internship. I bet I could get econ credits for it."
Simon lowered his head and rested it on his arms where they lay on the chair's back. He studied Jack intently, but this time Jack kept quiet.
"If you're my student," he said finally, "You look sharp and you do as you're told. I'm not goin' to be wranglin' with you every five minutes over whether or not what we're doin' makes sense."
"Gee, and three years of high school totally didn't prepare me for that," Jack replied.
"Well, you're faster than Petrelli, anyway. Come on then," Simon ordered, standing up. Jack got to his feet and shoved the half-eaten bagel back in the bag.
"Where are we going?" he asked, following Simon to the stairwell.
"Out. Can't go findin' around here, what is there to find? Claire says people make it hard. Nothin' like throwing you in the deep end."
By lunchtime, Jack's feet and head both ached, and he knew Simon was annoyed. But he couldn't really be bothered about that, because Simon was probably always going to be annoyed. They'd walked around what felt like the entire island of Manhattan while Simon made him find things or give directions, but at least he got to see an awful lot of New York.
The last thing they did before Simon abandoned him to his studies was find a bookstore that sold GED prep materials.
"Tomorrow, we find you a flat," he added, as Jack purchased the books. "You'll not spend your whole life living in flophouses."
"It's a fun place," Jack protested, and Simon smacked the back of his head. "Yessir."
"Better. Get readin'. And no moonin' round. I'm not babysittin' you."
Jack stepped out of the bookstore and unconsciously guided them towards a pretzel stand.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Depends on the question."
"What'd you want to do with your life? When you found out you could do all this."
"Rob banks," Simon said briefly. Jack laughed.
"Under-developed conscience?" he asked.
"No. Just hadn't anyone like me to show me what to do. And when I did, he wasn't the sort of person who exactly builds up a bloke's moral compass. I intend to do better by mine than he by his."
"That's fine by me," Jack said, as Simon nipped invisible, stole a pretzel from the cart, reappared ten feet away, and walked on.
He decided he was going to like being Simon's student.
It was my intention from the time Claire rejected Jack for him to come under some kind of threat that would highlight to her the difference between storybook romance and love staring her in the face. In the end, I chose to have Jack and Claire tell the story after the fact; just as well, since I have no idea who shot Jack or where they are.
JACK BAKER AND CLAIRE BENNET
Claire watched, stunned, as Jack touched a hand to his chest. Blood blossomed over his shirt and he stared at his fingers stupidly.
"Hoh -- woh -- " he said, and there was a whistling noise that sounded wrong, nightmarishly wrong. The air filled with the acrid tang of gunsmoke and Jack stumbled, dropping to his knees.
"Jack," she whispered, running forward. "Jack!"
"Oh -- " Jack said, still looking startled more than anything. Blood gushed out of the wound as he bent forward, then toppled to the ground.
All the rest faded away, the cold concrete under her knees as she fell next to him, the sound of voices and a struggle in the background.
"Jack, no -- " she hovered her hands over his chest, unsure what to do.
"Whoa," Jack replied. "Hi."
"Don't talk, don't say anything, okay?" she said, and finally first-aid training kicked in. Whistling meant his lung was perforated, didn't it? God, didn't they tell you to tape plastic over the wound or something?
Jack was breathing in short, sharp bursts, his throat contracted painfully, head arched back. His left arm flailed and fumbled until his fingers caught her wrist.
She looked down at his face and saw a terrible sort of lucidity there, the hyper-awareness of a dying brain.
Jack couldn't die. Jack was fragile, not like her, not like Peter. He couldn't die. She realised with a sudden insight that Jack must have seen, because he was a finder, that one week with him in her life, agreeable and easy and in love with her, one week was not enough. One kiss was definitely not enough. He came to find her because he really believed it was his destiny to be with her and and she'd thrown it out because he wasn't heroic or dramatic or something enough for her and now he was going to die.
His fingers flexed on her wrist.
"Do it," he rasped.
"Do what -- JACK!" she said, as his eyes closed. Do what, I can't do anything --
But hadn't Claude said...hadn't he tempted her with this? The power over other bodies than her own?
Her hand felt warm, and she could see the outlines of his tattoo glowing. He pulled her forward and pressed her hand over the soggy, squishing remains of his shirt. Claire wasn't afraid of blood, hers or anyone else's, but when her fingers touched the jagged hole in his flesh, she shuddered.
He coughed, blood flecking his lips, and one of her fingers slid into the wound. Really it wasn't so bad when you thought about it; just like cleaning out a chicken. She pushed further and felt her hand touch bone. Oh god she was touching Jack's bones...
Her hand felt like it was asleep, tingling and shaking, but she could feel too that something was shifting in Jack's body. The bullet, thrusting up against her finger, almost made her choke and vomit, but she grasped it and pulled it out, then pressed her palm over the skin. The horrific whistling noise stopped. Jack's body, arching and twisting off the concrete in pain, eased back slowly. She pulled his shirt open, ripping it away, and saw the flesh knitting back together under her fingers. It was pink and grainy, then white, then the tone of his skin, darker than hers.
No scar. No mark.
She felt herself begin to hyperventilate as she wiped the blood off on his shirt and pressed her hands against his cheeks, hoping it wasn't too late, that the blood loss wasn't so bad --
He opened his eyes.
"Ow," he said. "That fucking hurt."
Claire felt another shudder run through her body and she bent over him and kissed him, tasting blood on his lips, not caring at all. The bullet rattled down and fell off his chest, rolling away.
He kissed back.
"Did I just get shot?" he asked, when she leaned away. He reached up with his left hand and brushed hair out of her face.
"Yeah," she said.
"Am I gonna die?"
"Not anymore."
"That's good," he said, and passed out.
***
This scene was originally in the epilogue, but I cut it because the epilogue was getting unwieldy, and also because it pinged me as just slightly too sappy to be kept.
THE HAITIAN, AMY MARTIN-DUGUE, AND ASSORTED GUESTS AND LOVED ONES - NYC
SIX MONTHS LATER
Claire swore she wouldn't cry, and she wasn't, except she didn't bring any tissues and Jack was crying. Which was so embarrassing, but there's only so much you could do about Jack. And she kind of got it, because Jack had this thing about finding, and he thought two people finding each other was kind of a miracle. And he had his hand in hers, so maybe he was right.
"Christophe, will you take Amy, here present, for your lawful wedded wife according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church?"
The Haitian looked terrified. But it was his idea to have the big Catholic ceremony, so he had to go through with it.
"I, Christophe Dugue, take you, Amy, for my wife, from this day forward, until death do us part."
Amy, on the other hand, was queen of any situation. Claire was suspicious that she enjoyed looking like a giant lace-edged cupcake.
"Amy, will you take Christophe, here present, for your lawful wedded husband according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church?"
Amy glanced at Christophe and grinned. "I, Amy Martin, take you, Christophe, for my husband, from this day forward, until death do us part."
Jack sniffled. Claire kicked his shin.
"Do you have the rings?" the priest asked Christophe, who finally smiled. Amy turned to him, reached up, and pulled a pair of wedding bands out of his ear. Behind her, Claire heard Grandma Petrelli sigh.
"So undignified," she murmured. Amy gave one of the rings to Christophe.
"With this ring I thee wed..."
Part Two
The following two images were two of the three that
utility_knife sent me as potential images for the Peter-Sylar explosion. The notebook-paper image was the one he originally selected, and I agree that aesthetically speaking it is the best of the three. However, one of the other images seemed to fit the mood of the story and the theme better, so I ended up selecting that one for use in the final product.utility_knife has also posted some versions of posted art, including a lovely ink of the Claude-holding-Peter drawing, here. :)Originally, after Peter went up in flames Bennet was supposed to find Claire in the hospital. This didn't work for several reasons -- one, there were too many people discovering too many things at once, and two, Claude fucking disappeared. There was no other in-character reaction he could have had, but it took him out of the action and made it very difficult to bring him around to a point where he and Bennet could talk logically about Claude taking on leadership of the new company.
I cannibalised it, using large chunks in the end product, but I couldn't quite bear to get rid of the scenes in case I wanted to go back to them. So here they are. The parts I used are italicised, for fun.
MATT AND BENNET - MANHATTAN
The first half of this scene has gone mysteriously missing. I think the fanfic gnomes stole it.
"You didn't see the screaming guy who disappeared?" Matt asked.
"Come on."
They burst into the warehouse and Bennet didn't bother with the niceties; he picked up a syringe and jabbed it into Isaac's arm.
"Wake up now," he said, shaking the man off the bed. He grabbed Isaac by both shoulders and looked into those blank white eyes. "My daughter. I saw her. See what I saw. Find her, Isaac. Find her now."
Isaac staggered wearily to a new canvas, but he didn't pick up a brush; instead he dipped two fingers into a can of paint and smeared a dark black streak across the white space. Bennet shook him.
"Goddamn you!" he shouted, and Isaac brushed him aside, pressing his palm into a half-dried puddle of yellow and smearing that across the canvas as well.
Then he seemed to check himself and, blearily, lifted his black-covered fingers again. Below the smears he managed a word, Hospital.
"Oh god," Bennet breathed. Isaac continued, drawing a goopy, finger-painted sketch in one corner. Some kind of figure with two lines twining around it -- no, a woman, and those were the snakes of the caduceus.
Bennet shoved Isaac aside and ripped the canvas, tearing the symbol away from the frame and the rest of the painting.
"We need to find it," he said.
***
MATT, BENNET, AND JACK - GRACE HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM
Bennet knew that he couldn't come in shouting for Claire, or security would be after him before he had a chance of finding her. So he didn't; he prowled through the waiting room like a predator and bypassed the receiving station as if he owned it. Matt followed, silent and worried; the tension was coming off him in waves that you didn't need to be psychic to feel.
He almost passed the young man sitting on a hospital bed in the corridor, holding an icepack to his cheek. Almost.
The boy looked up when Bennet grabbed his arm and pulled him off the bed; he flinched back and tried to pull away, but Bennet was a grown man and the boy couldn't be more than eighteen, if that.
"You," they said in unison.
"You're the finder," Bennet growled. "What did you do to my daughter?"
Jack, that was his name, Jack Baker, the Sector working with Nakamura. He shook the boy, who was staring at him in shock. "Where is she?"
He pointed mutely down the hall, then slipped around Bennet and began walking, the ice pack still held to his jaw. Bennet followed, ready to chase the kid down and kill him if he tried to run.
And then suddenly, there she was. Sitting in a hospital waiting lounge, the fluorescents turning her hair deep orange.
"Claire," he said, and she looked up and smiled and then she was in his arms.
His daughter, his only link left to sanity. In his arms. Real and crying into his shirt and -- no, that was him trembling, not her.
The world narrowed down to the warmth of his daughter, safe and crying in his arms.
"It's okay," he heard himself say. "Dad's here now."
"Bennet," Parkman said warily.
Slowly he became aware that he was surrounded.
Standing in front of him, jaw set and face unreadable, was Senator Nathan Petrelli, the politician who could fly. Next to him was Jack, the ice pack now hefted menacingly in one hand.
The third man, standing next to Jack, raised Bennet's own pistol and cocked it at his head.
"Give me a reason," Claude Rains said.
***
NATHAN, CLAIRE, CLAUDE, JACK, BENNET, AND PARKMAN - GRACE HOSPITAL - NYC
"Claude," Bennet said, not letting go of Claire. "You can shoot me but you're not taking her away."
"Nobody's gonna shoot anyone, are they?" Matt asked. "There's a lot of innocent people in this hospital. Let's all just stop and take a moment."
"Claude, put the gun down," Claire said, turning in Bennet's arms but not leaving them. Nathan raised a hand and reached across Jack, resting it on the gun. Slowly, he lowered it. Claude clicked the safety on.
"Let her go," he said.
"Claude -- "
"Let her go," Claude repeated, and Bennet's arms loosened of their own accord. He'd -- he'd just been Spoken.
By Claude.
"Um," Jack said, and everyone looked at him. He glanced around, as if he wasn't expecting all the attention. "So. Uh. You know me, and I guess you two probably know each other 'cause you don't see that kind of ugly without knowing a person -- "
"Shut up," Bennet said through clenched teeth.
"No thanks," Jack replied. "Mr. Petrelli, this is Mr. Bennet. He's Claire's father. Mr. Bennet, this is Senator Petrelli. He's, um, also Claire's father."
Bennet met the flying man's gaze.
"I don't know who that dude behind Mr. Bennet is," Jack continued, "But he seems like maybe we should listen to him, 'cause obviously he's the only one who doesn't wanna kill someone right now."
"Mr. Bennet," Petrelli said slowly. "Let's have a seat, shall we?"
The senator gestured at the chairs. Claire kept hold of his hand and sat next to him, which made a brief flash of bitter jealousy cross Nathan Petrelli's face. Claude didn't sit; he stood behind Petrelli, the gun half-hidden but still prominent by his side.
"Try it and you'll live to regret it, fat man," Claude said, when Matt edged closer to him. He'd grown a beard, just like in the painting. It didn't suit him.
"He's from the Company," Bennet said, nodding at Jack. "He's here in New York to find Claire."
"How...the hell...?" Jack squinted at him.
"You're working with Yamagoto industries, aren't you? Your Japanese bodyguards?"
"I'm not with any company," Jack retorted. "Jesus, I'm seventeen, do I look like the man for the job to you?"
[footnote: Jack's last line of dialogue makes me incoherently happy for some reason, and I'm depressed I couldn't work it into the fic.]
"It's a game," Claude said to Bennet. "You're here to bring her in. And me, if you get half the chance. Which you won't."
"I'm not with the Company anymore," Bennet said.
"I told you he wasn't like that," Claire said to Claude.
"So," Nathan said, "We've established that nobody's from any kind of company and nobody actually wants to take Claire anywhere. Claude, put the gun away."
"Not on your life. I've been shot once, it's not happening again."
"Well, you're the only armed man in the room, so if you do get shot it's your own damn fault," Bennet said angrily. Claude turned a look on him that was pure, unadulterated disgust. But he did slip the revolver into his pocket.
"Then why are you here?" Claude asked.
"To find my daughter."
Petrelli gave him another look, but this time it was tinged with pity. Bennet didn't want his pity, but if it got him Claire he'd take it and beg for more.
"Let's give him a minute, huh guys?" he said, jerking his head at Jack. Jack disappeared into a room nearby -- a room where the younger Petrelli brother was lying in a hospital bed. Time to ask about that later.
"I'm stayin'," Claude said.
"Come on," Nathan urged.
"He may be your father but he killed me seven years ago, so you'll excuse me if I don't place absolute trust in the man," Claude said to Claire.
"It's okay," Claire said to Nathan. To her father. By blood. Bennet hated him already. "Claude can stay. He might help."
"If he stays, I stay," Matt said. "Evens out the odds."
"How d'ye figure that?" Claude demanded.
"Just try ordering Bennet again and watch what I can do," Matt said. Good man, Matt. Finally growing a spine.
"How are you?" he asked Claire, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "How long have you been here?"
"Since I left," she said. "I'm okay. Really. Nathan looked after me. Claude too," she added.
"Thank you," Bennet said. Claude grunted.
"And Jack...he came all the way from California to find me," she added.
"Why?"
"Nobody knows. Not even Jack," she said, and giggled a little, a laugh on the verge of hysteria. "Dad, I missed you -- "
"I missed you too. Like crazy. I was so worried they'd get you before I could." Bennet hugged her against his shoulder, kissing the top of her head. "I won't send you away again. I promise. I'm done with the company."
"Where are mom and Lyle?" Claire asked. "Are they okay? Do they miss me?"
Bennet bit down hard on his immediate reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claude flinch.
"They -- we can talk about them later. Don't worry. What matters is you're safe and I've got you here, okay?"
She nodded. Bennet looked up and saw that Claude knew. Somehow, he'd --
He'd read Bennet's mind.
"Claire-bear, why don't you go tell Mr. Petrelli I'm not going to hurt you," he suggested. She nodded, sniffling, and got up from her chair. "I think Claude and I need to talk."
When she was gone -- through the doorway into Peter Petrelli's room, where Jack jumped up from a chair to make room for her, Bennet turned to Claude.
"You're an Empath," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Your wife and son are dead," Claude replied.
"You lied to me -- for eight years -- you lied to the Company -- "
"Better than being an experiment," Claude said. "Better than being a Procedure."
"Wait, hold on," Matt interrupted. "What's an Empath?"
"He can do what you can do," Bennet said, but he didn't take his eyes off Claude.
"And more," Claude said, and disappeared.
"Claude! CLAUDE!"
An orderly, pushing a cart of medical supplies, stopped to stare at him.
"Tourette's," Matt said, slapping Bennet's back. "It's under control."
The orderly nodded and moved on. Matt closed his eyes tightly.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bennet hissed.
"Dampening."
"It's too late. It doesn't work on this," Bennet replied. He looked at the empty space where Claude had stood. He thought he saw a drapery move on its own, somewhere down the hallway. "He's gone."
These two scenes with Jack have no set time period -- they were supposed to happen at some point after chapter twenty, but both were written sort of vaguely, more to get them out of my head than anything else. The first scene was also cut because it didn't fit neatly into the "six" theme of the epilogue.
JACK BENNET AND SIMON PORTER
Jack wasn't sure his nerves could take this.
He sat in the warehouse, stretching the sleeves of his thermal shirt over his hands, twisting and untwisting the cuffs. It wasn't that he was afraid of Simon, exactly. He'd met the guy several times and knew Simon was an okay kind of person. But he also knew what Simon had done to Peter in the course of their training, and he really wasn't interested in having seven kinds of shit kicked out of him.
Peter had told him that Simon would help him, that Simon liked teaching, but Peter had a somewhat unfocused view of the world, in Jack's opinion. And Peter had been the one who had sat down with Jack a few days ago and told him that Simon was interested in taking on new students.
Peter himself wasn't at the Warehouse; he was helping Claire box up her stuff to move it to the Petrelli family estate, which was fucking huge. Jack had been worried about the whole stepmom issue, but seriously, he wasn't sure Claire would ever even see Heidi Petrelli in that maze.
Nope, now it was just him, waiting in this third-floor room for Simon while construction began below.
"Mornin," someone said, and Jack looked up and all around. Nobody in the room. Well, probably Simon in the room, considering. The Invisible man.
Jack focused quickly and turned to face where Simon would be, if Simon were visible. And then Simon was visible. He was also carrying a paper sack. Jack eyed it cautiously.
Simon came forward and picked up a chair, turning it around to sit on it backwards. He tossed the sack on the table.
"Breakfast," he said. "Eat."
Jack peered into the bag and came out with a bagel and a little squishy packet of cream cheese. Cautiously, he tore the packet open and squeezed it onto the bread.
"Morning," he said, trying to sound calm.
"Breathe, infant," Simon said. "You're makin' me antsy. It don't do to have many secrets around a telepath."
Jack nodded, not looking up at him. "I'm pretty obvious, huh?"
"Just a bit."
"I'm just not into the whole having my ass kicked thing," Jack answered.
"Believe it or not, I'm not particularly fond of that approach," Simon replied. Jack glanced up. "That's not what we're here to do."
"But Peter said -- "
"Oi, listen up," Simon interrupted. "You're my student, not Petrelli's. Not either of the Petrellis'. Until you learn how to properly think for yourself, your gospels come from me, right?"
"Yessir," Jack said.
"Now," Simon said, and then asked something Jack hadn't been expecting. "Where're your parents?"
"Ojai," Jack answered.
"They know where you are?"
"Sure, I called them."
"And they think of all this...?"
Jack frowned. "They said if I was old enough to fend for myself I was old enough to do what I wanted. Dad says I should get my GED, though."
"Right then. This afternoon, you'll start studyin' for that."
"Okay," Jack said meekly.
"So you're a Sector. Never trained one o'those before. What is it you think you'll do with all this power?" Simon asked. Jack chewed, thinking.
"Well, I thought, there's two options, you know?" he said. "I mean, there's philanthropy and that's great and all but it doesn't really make me happy. In a career kind of way."
Simon just stared at him, so Jack tried to elaborate.
"Like, I could be a firefighter. Or get into search and rescue. I'd be really good at that, wouldn't I? But it's not really what I want to do. Not for life."
"And what's that then?"
Jack shrugged. "I kinda thought being an archaeologist might be fun."
Simon looked like he was trying not to smile. "Archaeology. Bones and rocks and things."
"Yeah. Or someone who does research. For things. But right now..." Jack took another bite. "I should help out here, shouldn't I? I came all the way here for a reason. And we have to look out for us. And I liked it, you know. Finding people. So I though, maybe, some kind of company internship. I bet I could get econ credits for it."
Simon lowered his head and rested it on his arms where they lay on the chair's back. He studied Jack intently, but this time Jack kept quiet.
"If you're my student," he said finally, "You look sharp and you do as you're told. I'm not goin' to be wranglin' with you every five minutes over whether or not what we're doin' makes sense."
"Gee, and three years of high school totally didn't prepare me for that," Jack replied.
"Well, you're faster than Petrelli, anyway. Come on then," Simon ordered, standing up. Jack got to his feet and shoved the half-eaten bagel back in the bag.
"Where are we going?" he asked, following Simon to the stairwell.
"Out. Can't go findin' around here, what is there to find? Claire says people make it hard. Nothin' like throwing you in the deep end."
By lunchtime, Jack's feet and head both ached, and he knew Simon was annoyed. But he couldn't really be bothered about that, because Simon was probably always going to be annoyed. They'd walked around what felt like the entire island of Manhattan while Simon made him find things or give directions, but at least he got to see an awful lot of New York.
The last thing they did before Simon abandoned him to his studies was find a bookstore that sold GED prep materials.
"Tomorrow, we find you a flat," he added, as Jack purchased the books. "You'll not spend your whole life living in flophouses."
"It's a fun place," Jack protested, and Simon smacked the back of his head. "Yessir."
"Better. Get readin'. And no moonin' round. I'm not babysittin' you."
Jack stepped out of the bookstore and unconsciously guided them towards a pretzel stand.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Depends on the question."
"What'd you want to do with your life? When you found out you could do all this."
"Rob banks," Simon said briefly. Jack laughed.
"Under-developed conscience?" he asked.
"No. Just hadn't anyone like me to show me what to do. And when I did, he wasn't the sort of person who exactly builds up a bloke's moral compass. I intend to do better by mine than he by his."
"That's fine by me," Jack said, as Simon nipped invisible, stole a pretzel from the cart, reappared ten feet away, and walked on.
He decided he was going to like being Simon's student.
It was my intention from the time Claire rejected Jack for him to come under some kind of threat that would highlight to her the difference between storybook romance and love staring her in the face. In the end, I chose to have Jack and Claire tell the story after the fact; just as well, since I have no idea who shot Jack or where they are.
JACK BAKER AND CLAIRE BENNET
Claire watched, stunned, as Jack touched a hand to his chest. Blood blossomed over his shirt and he stared at his fingers stupidly.
"Hoh -- woh -- " he said, and there was a whistling noise that sounded wrong, nightmarishly wrong. The air filled with the acrid tang of gunsmoke and Jack stumbled, dropping to his knees.
"Jack," she whispered, running forward. "Jack!"
"Oh -- " Jack said, still looking startled more than anything. Blood gushed out of the wound as he bent forward, then toppled to the ground.
All the rest faded away, the cold concrete under her knees as she fell next to him, the sound of voices and a struggle in the background.
"Jack, no -- " she hovered her hands over his chest, unsure what to do.
"Whoa," Jack replied. "Hi."
"Don't talk, don't say anything, okay?" she said, and finally first-aid training kicked in. Whistling meant his lung was perforated, didn't it? God, didn't they tell you to tape plastic over the wound or something?
Jack was breathing in short, sharp bursts, his throat contracted painfully, head arched back. His left arm flailed and fumbled until his fingers caught her wrist.
She looked down at his face and saw a terrible sort of lucidity there, the hyper-awareness of a dying brain.
Jack couldn't die. Jack was fragile, not like her, not like Peter. He couldn't die. She realised with a sudden insight that Jack must have seen, because he was a finder, that one week with him in her life, agreeable and easy and in love with her, one week was not enough. One kiss was definitely not enough. He came to find her because he really believed it was his destiny to be with her and and she'd thrown it out because he wasn't heroic or dramatic or something enough for her and now he was going to die.
His fingers flexed on her wrist.
"Do it," he rasped.
"Do what -- JACK!" she said, as his eyes closed. Do what, I can't do anything --
But hadn't Claude said...hadn't he tempted her with this? The power over other bodies than her own?
Her hand felt warm, and she could see the outlines of his tattoo glowing. He pulled her forward and pressed her hand over the soggy, squishing remains of his shirt. Claire wasn't afraid of blood, hers or anyone else's, but when her fingers touched the jagged hole in his flesh, she shuddered.
He coughed, blood flecking his lips, and one of her fingers slid into the wound. Really it wasn't so bad when you thought about it; just like cleaning out a chicken. She pushed further and felt her hand touch bone. Oh god she was touching Jack's bones...
Her hand felt like it was asleep, tingling and shaking, but she could feel too that something was shifting in Jack's body. The bullet, thrusting up against her finger, almost made her choke and vomit, but she grasped it and pulled it out, then pressed her palm over the skin. The horrific whistling noise stopped. Jack's body, arching and twisting off the concrete in pain, eased back slowly. She pulled his shirt open, ripping it away, and saw the flesh knitting back together under her fingers. It was pink and grainy, then white, then the tone of his skin, darker than hers.
No scar. No mark.
She felt herself begin to hyperventilate as she wiped the blood off on his shirt and pressed her hands against his cheeks, hoping it wasn't too late, that the blood loss wasn't so bad --
He opened his eyes.
"Ow," he said. "That fucking hurt."
Claire felt another shudder run through her body and she bent over him and kissed him, tasting blood on his lips, not caring at all. The bullet rattled down and fell off his chest, rolling away.
He kissed back.
"Did I just get shot?" he asked, when she leaned away. He reached up with his left hand and brushed hair out of her face.
"Yeah," she said.
"Am I gonna die?"
"Not anymore."
"That's good," he said, and passed out.
***
This scene was originally in the epilogue, but I cut it because the epilogue was getting unwieldy, and also because it pinged me as just slightly too sappy to be kept.
THE HAITIAN, AMY MARTIN-DUGUE, AND ASSORTED GUESTS AND LOVED ONES - NYC
SIX MONTHS LATER
Claire swore she wouldn't cry, and she wasn't, except she didn't bring any tissues and Jack was crying. Which was so embarrassing, but there's only so much you could do about Jack. And she kind of got it, because Jack had this thing about finding, and he thought two people finding each other was kind of a miracle. And he had his hand in hers, so maybe he was right.
"Christophe, will you take Amy, here present, for your lawful wedded wife according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church?"
The Haitian looked terrified. But it was his idea to have the big Catholic ceremony, so he had to go through with it.
"I, Christophe Dugue, take you, Amy, for my wife, from this day forward, until death do us part."
Amy, on the other hand, was queen of any situation. Claire was suspicious that she enjoyed looking like a giant lace-edged cupcake.
"Amy, will you take Christophe, here present, for your lawful wedded husband according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church?"
Amy glanced at Christophe and grinned. "I, Amy Martin, take you, Christophe, for my husband, from this day forward, until death do us part."
Jack sniffled. Claire kicked his shin.
"Do you have the rings?" the priest asked Christophe, who finally smiled. Amy turned to him, reached up, and pulled a pair of wedding bands out of his ear. Behind her, Claire heard Grandma Petrelli sigh.
"So undignified," she murmured. Amy gave one of the rings to Christophe.
"With this ring I thee wed..."
Part Two
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THAT line makes ME ridiculously happy for some reason.
Also, the wedding may have been sappy, but it was adorkable. I loved the rings. I want to know more about Christophe The Haitian and Morgana the Magnficient! Because that is just... that's just too something, it's awesome.
Also also, the "Yeah, like three years of high school didn't prepare me for that" bit was made of awesome.
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I wish I had done more about the Haitian; after a while I just have so many threads going that some of them fall loose. I literally had a list of characters and had to check off to make sure I'd remembered to write about them recently....
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I think the hospital scene was good, but the last two are definitely the better for being referred to rather than inserted into the flow of things.
And Jack is so cute ^_^
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Also, how come there was no showdown with The Company? I mean, aren't they pissed off about people muscling in on their territory and being all nice and non-kidnappy?
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-blue
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I'm not goin' to be wranglin' with you every five minutes over whether or not what we're doin' makes sense."
"Gee, and three years of high school totally didn't prepare me for that," Jack replied. YES.
(None of the Catholic weddings I've been to use words like that, but there's a bit of leeway, so that works.)
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I wanted to make it really obvious that it was a Catholic ceremony and use traditional Catholic phraseology, but I uhm. *sheepish* wasn't sure what that was. So I grabbed what looked closest. If you can recommend a better set of phrases, please feel free :D)
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I (Name), take you (Name), to be my (lawfully) wedded wife/husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do us part.
I've very much enjoyed this throughout. Thanks for writing such good fic so consistently : )
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Jack and his "yessir" make me grin, and Archeology is perfect for him. ...he's become awfully real to me, Sam. I have a picture of him in my head. When the show comes back I'll keep glancing around corners, looking for a blond kid with a tattoo...
Claude being the only armed man in the room made me snort.
Jack as peacemaker, saying they should listen to Matt, was priceless.
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if it was any sappier, it'd be a Maple.
"I've always wondered how magicians do it. I mean, is it like, 'Was it good for you?' 'I don't know...WHY DON'T YOU CHECK YOUR BACK POCKET?!'"
which so would have been amy/christophe's honeymoon night summed up.
Re: if it was any sappier, it'd be a Maple.