sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-13 12:18 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-13 12:18 am
Heroes: Seven Long Years, 2/2
Title: Seven Long Years 2/2
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: "I think if Claude had still been in Claire's life, he would have been someone she could go to about this, and as soon as she did, he'd have started a ball in motion to conceal her. It'd make a great AU." "I would really, really love to read that."
Notes: Spoilers through The Company Man.
Originally posted 4.22.07
Chapter One
TWO MONTHS AGO
Summer was waning, even in Texas; rain came more often and at night the air was beginning to be breathable again. Soon it would be just-too-cold for light shirts and outdoor dinner, but the residents of Odessa were taking advantage of the beautiful weather while they could. Around six o'clock, the air filled with the smell of mesquite smoke, burning charcoal, roasting meat, and fragrant cooking herbs, followed by the musk of citronella candles as the mosquitos closed in on their prey. It was one of the best times of the year, in Claude's opinion, and the only time he ever felt really at home in America. Not because it reminded him of England, which would be grey and drizzly and already cold, but because it made him happy in a way few things did, especially these days.
Bennet, at the enormous grill, was passing on the mystic lore of Texas barbecue from father to son while steaks and ribs smoked and hissed; Claire drowsed in the hammock with her music on, and Sandra was reading some novel, basking in the sun. Claude, just as happy to be out of Company uniform and in a t-shirt, swatted mosquitos and enjoyed his sweet tea. Every year around this time he thought perhaps Odessa wasn't so bad, and he'd forget how he cursed the half-hearted winters and fierce, terrible summers.
Over dinner, Claire and Lyle chattered about school and cheerleading and football, so painfully middle-American that it made Claude smile. There were always parental cautions about not letting grades slip, and that naturally led (Claire was more than clever) to the debate over whether good grades were also grounds for rewards, like access to the car and maybe permission to go on some school trip or other. Bennet helped his wife clean barbecue sauce off her chin, his affection ridiculously evident whenever he looked at her, and the children fought a war that involved continually shifting their unwanted helpings of potato salad from one plate to the next.
"What about you, Claude?" Sandra asked, and Claude looked up from the remains of his steak.
"What's that now?" he asked.
"When are you going to settle down?" she asked, smiling at him. "Or does the Company keep you too busy?"
"Bachelorhood has its benefits," he said, grinning back. "Besides, I've got Bennet to look after."
Bennet's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's in my best interest to keep him to myself," he said.
"Selfish," Sandra said, nudging her husband with her elbow. "Listen, do you remember Ellen, she dropped by last time you were here for dinner?"
"Not contrived at all," Bennet murmured.
"Hush, you. Well, she said she thought you were the most handsome man she'd seen in years. I'll set it all up, if you like."
"Oh, well, ta, but -- " Claude gave her a half-smile. "I'm not the settlin' down sort, me. Besides, I'm holdin' out," he said, and winked at Claire, who giggled. "I do all right."
He hesitated; it wasn't in his nature to make grand statements, and he wasn't sure if Bennet really ever felt comfortable with his presence in their tight-knit little family. Especially since the spectre of Claude's abilities hovered around Claire, always a reminder that maybe some day she'd disappear too, or find herself hovering at second-story level or setting a table without touching the plates.
"Anyhow, got m'self a family already," he said quietly. Sandra smiled warmly.
"The best part," Bennet added. "You never have to ground anyone."
Claude laughed. "S'true. A prime situation, in fact."
"Or do the dishes," Sandra said. "All right, you two, take the plates inside."
She picked up the remains of the meal and followed the children through the sliding-glass door, heckling them into the kitchen. Claude sat back and stretched, staring up at the sky that was darkening blue to black around the edges.
"Claude, I need a favor," Bennet said, and Claude tilted his head forward, cocking it to one side. "It's about Claire."
"Oh aye?" he said, sitting up. "Want some callow youth followed to make sure he's doin' right by her?"
"I wish. She's been -- distracted lately. More distracted than a girl her age ought to be."
"You think she's showin' power?" Claude asked carefully.
"I don't know," Bennet admitted, without meeting Claude's eyes. "Kids, sometimes they'll...tell other people what they won't tell their parents."
"You want me to dutch uncle your daughter?"
"I just want you to...be there. If she is, she needs someone."
"If she is, the Company'll want her."
Bennet raised his face, and Claude saw something in his eyes that he recognised. Anguish and indecision, the same things he'd felt when he'd told Bennet to keep driving, six, seven years ago now. Bennet was having his own crisis of faith, and worse, because she wasn't some farmgirl with pretty blue eyes. She was his daughter.
"No, Bennet," Claude said, shaking his head, sharp worry rising in him. "No, you can't. You can't do a runner with her. They'll get you both."
"I'm not running anywhere. I just need to know. I can plan from there -- "
"There is no plan, Bennet. If she is, they take her, and if she isn't, she isn't. So what you're really asking is for me to talk to her and lie to you, which puts my neck on the line. And the last time I put my neck on the line you sent me up."
"Claude -- "
Sandra slid the door open and peered out. "You boys need anything? We're servin' ice cream cones."
Claude brought up a ready smile. "Chocolate chip?"
Sandra winked at him and glanced at her husband. Bennet wasn't as fast on the draw as Claude; it took him a second to switch. "Sure, hon. Just a cup for me."
She disappeared into the house again. The two men sat in silence, Claude tapping a finger on the table.
"I owe you," Bennet said softly. "I know that. But I haven't got anyone else who can help. You said you could take your medicine if I was careful with the girl and I was. Now I need help for Claire, not for me. And I know you understand that."
"Ice cream!" Claire announced, carrying two ice-cream cones and a small bowl through the door, presenting one cone to Claude and the bowl to her father. Lyle and Sandra followed, Lyle licking up his already-dripping cone. Bennet was still watching Claude.
"I could do a bit of a walk," Claude said, stretching his legs and standing up. "Cub, come along? Tisn't safe out at this time o'night in the suburbs, I hear."
Claire laughed and said sure, and Bennet's look of gratitude was depressing.
"Won't go far," Claude promised, unlatching the gate and holding it open for Claire, who gave him a proper nod and passed through, across the side-yard's grass and out to the pavement. Claude followed, eating his ice cream quietly, strolling along.
"Dad wants you to talk to me about something, doesn't he," she said, as they walked.
"Not much slips by you," he replied.
"You guys aren't the most subtle in the world," she said. "But I'm doing all right in school and I know I can get my bio grades up. And cheerleading isn't going to affect my grades, promise."
"Never figured it would. Besides, there's more important things'n grades, don't tell your dad I tol' you," he said. "Got to know a bit about life, got to have friends."
"Yeah, well," she ducked her head and he wondered if he'd inadvertently hit some nerve other than the one he was angling for. "I don't know that I'd really call Jackie a friend sometimes."
"Sometimes you pick and choose. Sometimes you got to take what's given," he answered noncommittally.
"So what's dad want you to talk to me about?"
Claude shrugged. "This'n'that. He worries about you. Growin' up and all. Thinks you'll tell me things you'd not tell him."
"Are you gonna nark on me if I do?"
"Nah. Hey, Cub, listen now," Claude said, stopping to lean against the rail of a small river bridge. Claire stopped too, biting into her ice cream cone. "He may've asked, but you know I'm not entirely neutral myself when it comes to this family."
"Is that your stuffy way of saying you like us?" Claire asked, grinning.
"Texans." Claude shook his head. "What I'm sayin' is, this isn't you an' your dad's pal. This is you an' me. You say somethin', it stays between us. You need help, that stays between us too. Some things s'better if a dad doesn't know it."
Claire bit her lip, her face falling. "You really mean that?"
"Bennet and I have our secrets from each other, like anyone."
"Really?" she asked curiously.
"Everyone does." He ate the last of his ice-cream and pitched the cone down into the gully for the birds to pick apart. She grinned. "You're growin' up, you're allowed as well. But," he added, "Sometimes you think you got somethin' in hand and you're a bit young to see you haven't really. It's all in knowing what to say and what not to say. Sometimes it's easier to say a thing to a friend."
"Oh," she said, looking thoughtful.
"Grades okay, then? What about a boy?" he winked. "Or a girl?"
"Not really. There's a boy I like, but..." she shook her head. "I could tell Dad about that."
"Then what can't you tell him, hm?" he asked. She twisted her fingers together, face uncertain. "Cub, this stays between you an' me an' the bridge."
"I think I'm a freak," she blurted, then put her hands to her face. "I mean -- I'm not really, but I am, and -- god, I sound so stupid."
"Hey, no, come on now," he said, tugging her hands away. "You're no kind of freak."
"I know, it sounds like something stupid teenagers say, and you wouldn't believe me anyway -- "
"Try me," he suggested, though he could feel his heart thudding. He remembered the look on her face because he'd seen it in a mirror when he was a little younger than she was now. I'm a freak, and nobody's going to believe me.
"You'll tell Dad and they'll put me in some kind of looney bin."
"Nobody's putting anyone in any bin, looney or otherwise," he said. "We'll sort it together, okay?"
"But it sounds so nuts..."
"You'd be surprised all the nuts I've heard that turned out not to be quite so nuts," he said.
"I think I can heal," she whispered. "Like, super-fast. I think I'm kind of...indestructible."
He blinked at her.
"See? It sounds totally crazy -- "
"No, no. It's fine. How d'you mean, indestructible?"
"I -- remember when I cut my hand and it was all healed up in like, two days?"
Claude cast his mind back. "The time your dad came home from California?"
"Yeah. And then like, two weeks ago I was making eggs and I burned my hand and it didn't really...hurt, not like it should, and then it was gone in like thirty seconds." Claire looked close to tears. "I know, I know how it sounds -- "
"No, that's not it," he said, tipping her chin up to make her meet his eyes. "It's okay, Cub. S'okay. I...can you...show me?"
She looked around wildly and her eyes fell on a spur of sharp metal, sticking out of a post on the bridge. She looked up at him, closed her eyes, and slammed her hand down on it. Claude felt bile rise in his throat. It passed cleanly through her hand and stuck through the other side, slicked with blood.
With a grunt she pulled her hand free and held it out to him. The wound closed over with a sucking noise and in seconds the skin had faded to the same colour as the rest of her arm.
The poor kid was shaking, and Claude didn't know what to do. So he held out his own hand, turned it over, and disappeared.
Claire made a low, coughing sort of noise in shock, something close to a strangled scream. It was to her credit that she didn't shriek -- instead she put out her hand and found his chest, pressing her palm against it.
"See, Cub?" he asked, as she looked in vain for a sign he was still there, even though she could feel her hand pressing against his shirt. "I'm special too."
***
Bennet was waiting impatiently when they returned, cleaning the grill while Lyle and Sandra swept up the patio. He glanced up and then down again quickly as Claude and Claire passed through the gate, latching it behind them. Claire smiled up at him, hugged her dad, and ran inside; Claude lingered near the grill, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Well?" Bennet asked, when Sandra and Lyle had followed Claire inside. He didn't look up.
"Oi, Bennet. Stop a mo."
He stopped scrubbing the grill, slowly, and set the rag aside. Finally, he leaned both hands on the rim and looked up at Claude.
"Spoke with her," Claude said quietly. "Can't tell you everything, you know that. Told her it was between us."
"So she's keeping secrets -- "
"All kids keep secrets, otherwise they'd never learn anything worth knowin'," Claude answered, savouring this just a little. He felt petty for wanting revenge, but he couldn't help that.
"What can you tell me?"
Claude grinned. He was a much, much better liar than his partner. "The salacious truth? She has a crush on a boy at school and at some party last week she tried a beer."
Bennet's shoulders sagged with relief. "Oh, my god."
"Yeah, s'terrible, I know."
"Thank you," Bennet murmured.
"Don' thank me. Just don't go and have some talk with her about the dangers of drinkin' or whatnot, I think she learned her lesson there." His grin widened. "When Lyle needs a bit'a straightenin' out, just give a call, eh? The Doctor Is In."
"She's just -- too young yet."
Claude nodded. "Full well too young. Still, never to fret; perhaps you'll luck out and she'll end up entirely ordinary."
"Claire's never going to be ordinary."
"Every dad says that." Claude slapped him on the shoulder and made for the door. "In with you; I'm off home and that grill's going to fall apart if you scrub it any further."
***
He needed to work fast, because sooner or later he'd be debriefed again and he couldn't trust the Haitian to keep things quiet. Besides, no point putting the other man in danger if he decided he should. He had to get Claire safely out of Texas and make sure she stayed safe; that meant taking her himself, because he couldn't trust anyone else and she was too young to go on her own. But he couldn't trust anyone else to help him get the chip out either, and he couldn't take her anywhere if he had that goddamn chip still in his body.
He had a little time, but it was borrowed time; since the debacle in California, when he'd proved he could work solo without automatically defaulting, they hadn't bothered debriefing him fully. It was some kind of measure of trust, but not enough, and any day he might run into a telepath or they might get suspicious and start up the scans again.
Then came Isaac Mendez, the man who painted Claire.
The report came through Eden but it came across Claude's desk first, seeing as how Claude had trained her after Bennet broke her of that nasty little attitude. He didn't destroy the file this time; he filed it properly and with all due process and just happened to leave out the part about what was in some of the paintings. He went to New York with Eden to bring Isaac back to Odessa, and he knew that he would certainly have to bolt if they tried to debrief him, but nothing came of it. Bennet, blissfully unaware, complained about how much it cost to buy Claire's dress for Homecoming.
Claude hadn't spoken directly with Claire, alone, since that night in September, and he hadn't told her nearly everything. Not what her father did, not who her mother was, not why it was so important to keep this secret; the last was pretty evident anyway. He'd just asked her to sit tight and act normal or they'd both be in hot water, and she was quite the soldier about it. Sooner or later, though, they had to speak again, because he was damned if he'd let her go into danger unaware.
The opportunity came to him, oddly enough, in the form of Claire showing up at Primatech to try and get some paper for a Homecoming banner. Bennet was busy wrestling with Mendez and doing prelim research on a possible shape-shifter; Claude volunteered to show Claire the sample room and help her find something appropriate.
"I want a word and we don't have much time," he said quietly, aware of just how dangerous this was. The sample room was a dummy part of the building and there weren't bugs or cameras, but an invisible man knows how easy it is to hear other peoples' talk. "Don't ask questions, just listen."
Claire nodded, studying the dimensions-sheet he was showing her.
"There's a man who sees the future and he says you're in danger. Someone wants to kill you and he's going to try to do it at your Homecoming. Don't talk," he said, when she opened her mouth. "I'm goin' to make sure that doesn't happen, but you have to trust me and act normal. You're hard to kill, so that makes it easier. Once you leave the house I'm goin' to be with you every step you take, even if you can't see me, right? I'm goin' to be there and I'm goin' to have a gun."
"Who -- "
"Don't know that," Claude said, setting the dimensions sheet down and wandering over to a bin of paper rolls. She followed, dutifully peering at the various papers he held out to her. "There's nothin' I can do before then, there's not enough time. Trust me, Claire."
She glanced up at him, tugging one of the rolls of paper out of the bin. He studied it, then looked through one end of the roll at her, using it like a telescope. She couldn't help but laugh.
***
TWO WEEKS AGO
His major mistake was in following the wrong man.
Well, what was he supposed to think when some stranger, obviously too old to be a student, was lurking in the darkened hallways of the school? When Claire stopped to talk to him Claude nearly smacked the back of her head, because the last thing he wanted was for her to draw attention to herself. Still, it gave him time to get a good look at this dark-haired man who seemed all too interested in the cheerleaders, even for a so-called alumnus.
He followed the man out of the school, watching cautiously as he turned and faced the doors. He should be with Claire, he'd said he would be, but he didn't really want to barge into a locker room full of half-dressed cheerleaders, either. Contrary to what most men might have thought, invisibly watching a bunch of teenaged girls undress was not his idea of a good time.
The man took a photo out of his pocket and held it up; Claude circled around to peer at it over his shoulder, and that was when the man elbowed him directly in the stomach.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, whirling and grabbing Claude by the front of his shirt.
"You can see me," Claude breathed, startled, and then surged forward, grasping the kid by the throat. "Nobody sees me!"
They slammed into the wall together, Claude still gripping him by the throat.
"Who are you?" he demanded, pressing the gun into the man's belly. "What do you want with that girl?"
"Nobody, I'm here -- I'm here to save someone!"
"How come you can see me?"
"I -- I can do what you can do!" the man stammered, and Claude eased back, letting him drop to the ground. They stared at each other, both breathing hard.
"You're one'a them," Claude said, realising what he was seeing. The Company's holy grail; an Empath, alive, reasonably sane-looking, here, in his posession.
"One of who?" the man asked. His eyes flicked to the gun. "I'm not gonna let you kill her."
"I'm not here to kill anyone, you moron," Claude retorted.
"Well, neither am I!"
"Then who -- " Claude started, then froze. If he was here, and someone else was here who was not in fact the man who wanted to kill Claire, then that meant someone else was here...
"Come on," he said, grabbing the man by his shirtfront and pulling him fully upright. Even as they ran for the doors, he heard someone scream.
He bolted down the hallway, the Empath at his heels, just as Claire came running out of the locker room, blood in her hair. He flickered into visibility, but he didn't stop.
"Run! Go!" he shouted, as they passed each other. A dim figure lurched through the door after her. Claude slammed into him, knocking them both back into the wall, and fired three solid bullets into his chest.
Or tried.
The gun clicked uselessly and the man raised horrifying, dead-empty eyes to his.
"Nice toy," he said, and flung Claude away like a rag doll.
Claude fell and saw stars, but he fumbled against the smooth linoleum and tried to push himself up. He could see the Empath standing at the end of the hall, barring the murderer's way. He raised the gun and fired twice more. This time the bullets left the weapon, but they seemed to fly wide in physically impossible ways.
Metal creaked as the man flung locker doors at the Empath -- a Telekinetic, then.
He managed to push himself up and follow where the Telekinetic went, slowly and limpingly; he saw Claire run along the ridge of the ampitheatre, then saw...
Telekinetics couldn't fly. It was a physical trait. It was like lifting yourself off the ground by grabbing your shoes and pulling; it just didn't work. But this man flew. Which meant he had more than one talent, which meant --
Two Empaths.
Two Empaths.
Two Empaths fighting, struggling on the ledge, and even as Claude staggered forward, two Empaths falling backwards off the ledge.
He cursed under his breath and ran for the doors, his left leg hurting badly, blood dripping from a cut across his right arm and sluggishly soaking his shirt.
By the time he made it through the door, Claire was there, standing and facing one of the Empaths. The other one, the one who'd been after her, was gone; Claude watched in fascination as the remaining man twisted half his body a hundred and eighty degrees to realign his legs with his torso.
The gun wouldn't do much good, but he kept the safety off anyway, sweeping the area, looking for the other Empath. Claire crouched in front of the man sitting bewilderedly on the pavement.
"Where is he?" Claude demanded.
"He ran away," Claire said, putting out a hand to touch the Empath. She pressed it against his throat, then against his chest, as if she couldn't believe he were real. Claude hauled her up by her other arm and put his body physically between her and the most open part of the campus.
"The police," the Empath said, breathing heavily.
"They can't help," Claude replied. "What's your name?"
"Peter," he said. "Petrelli."
"Get up. Come on, we haven't got any time," Claude said, reaching around Claire to give him a hand up. "Why're you here?"
"I was told..." Peter touched his own face, disbelievingly, feeling for cuts and bruises that were no longer there. "Is she the cheerleader? Saving her, did I save the world?"
"What?" Claude asked.
"I was told I had to save the cheerleader to save the world," Peter said. Claire looked up at Claude. "I came here to save her."
"Well, your job's not done yet, sonny me lad," Claude said, making a decision in the split second available to him. He turned to Claire.
"You got to get out of Odessa," he said. "And you got to do it now, because after tonight they'll know and they'll come after you."
"Who -- "
"There's no time, do you get that?" Claude said. "You. Petrelli. You want to save a cheerleader?"
He thrust Claire at him, because otherwise he was going to lose his guts and then Claire would never be safe.
"Get her out of here. Get her out of Texas. Take her wherever it is you're from and keep her safe. I'll catch up with you."
"How?" Peter asked, as Claire stared at Claude in dismay.
"I'll find you, don't fret yourself about that. Go. Now. Here." He thrust all the money he had on him, fifty dollars and a few singles, into Claire's hands. "This is your one chance to get free with no trail. Run!"
If Claire didn't comprehend what was going on, at least Peter Petrelli seemed to have a grip on the concept of "run away"; he pulled her after him into the darkness, and Claude -- a man covered in blood, holding a gun, and breathing hard -- very sensibly disappeared.
***
Bennet went out of his mind with fear and worry.
Jackie was dead and Claire was missing; Claude couldn't even reassure him that she was alive and safe with some stranger who was willing to risk his life for Claire. The guilt gnawed away at him, but with Claire gone he could focus on getting rid of the chip and finding her. He didn't dare so much as enter Peter's name into the Company database until he was ready to move.
Wherever they had gone, it was a damn good hiding place.
The Company assumed that some Special had come to take Claire, and they had some information about a man who killed people by taking the tops of their heads off, which shifted blame away from Claude quite neatly.
It was two days -- two absolutely horrifying days of Bennet in agony and Claude trying to pretend it was grief and not elation he felt. Two days before the Haitian came to his back door one night and opened his mouth and talked.
"I know you concealed her," he said, leaning against the deadbolted door. Claude's jaw literally dropped open. "I have come to help."
He passed the stunned man and walked into the kitchen, setting a small cloth bundle on the counter. Claude followed.
"You...talk," he said.
"Yes," the Haitian agreed. "We all have our secrets. I have come to tell you that Claire Bennet is safe with her father."
"She's not -- "
"Her birth father."
Claude wasn't certain how much shock he could take at one time without having some kind of health issue, but he was pretty sure he was reaching his limit.
"I answer to an authority outside of the Company who supercedes yourself and Mr. Bennet, in the case of Claire Bennet's safety," the Haitian continued, undoing the bundle. "Through Claire, she has learned of your service to the Petrelli family and wishes to help."
"Petrelli. That's the Empath's name," Claude said numbly.
"Also the name of his brother, Claire's father." The Haitian unrolled the bundle. Light gleamed off sharp metal blades and a small glass bottle. Claude eyed the surgical kit warily.
"There is new identification awaiting you when this is finished," the Haitian said, removing the little bottle and a syringe. "It will be painless, and will not take long."
"Whoa, ho, no," Claude said, backing away. The Haitian filled the syringe, tested it, and set it down. "Nobody's cuttin' into me. That thing's impossible to get to."
"So you were told, of course," the Haitian replied. "It is all sterile. There is no need to fear."
"No need to fear you comin' near me with sharp objects ten minutes after I learn you can talk for the first time in fourteen years?" Claude asked.
"Take off your shirt, and rub this on your skin," the Haitian said, tossing him a bottle of iodine. "If you leave work tomorrow evening and go directly to the airport, you will have a fourteen-hour head start. That will be enough, if they think the chip is still active."
***
When Bennet unlocked Claude's door with a spare key he'd been given years before, he found the apartment empty of human presence, even after a sweep with thermographic goggles. The place was tidy, though he noticed a few things were missing -- there weren't enough clothes in his dresser, his watch was gone, and some of the photograph frames on his walls were empty.
There was also a handwritten note on his clean, bare dining-room table. It was held down by a small piece of metal, crusted with dried blood.
Claire is alive and safe. The Company cannot have her. Do not attempt to follow her. Do not attempt to follow me. -- C.R.
Bennet lifted the note carefully, folding it and putting it in a plastic evidence bag. He would tell the Company, of course, but this way he was innocent and Claire was safe.
He owed Claude more than he could ever repay, and he would never have a chance to even try. He owed Claude the life of a daughter he would probably never see again.
"So, that's my punishment for turning you in," he said to himself, closing the door and locking it carefully behind him. "Slow in coming, but every inch effective. Well done, Claude."
END
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: "I think if Claude had still been in Claire's life, he would have been someone she could go to about this, and as soon as she did, he'd have started a ball in motion to conceal her. It'd make a great AU." "I would really, really love to read that."
Notes: Spoilers through The Company Man.
Originally posted 4.22.07
Chapter One
TWO MONTHS AGO
Summer was waning, even in Texas; rain came more often and at night the air was beginning to be breathable again. Soon it would be just-too-cold for light shirts and outdoor dinner, but the residents of Odessa were taking advantage of the beautiful weather while they could. Around six o'clock, the air filled with the smell of mesquite smoke, burning charcoal, roasting meat, and fragrant cooking herbs, followed by the musk of citronella candles as the mosquitos closed in on their prey. It was one of the best times of the year, in Claude's opinion, and the only time he ever felt really at home in America. Not because it reminded him of England, which would be grey and drizzly and already cold, but because it made him happy in a way few things did, especially these days.
Bennet, at the enormous grill, was passing on the mystic lore of Texas barbecue from father to son while steaks and ribs smoked and hissed; Claire drowsed in the hammock with her music on, and Sandra was reading some novel, basking in the sun. Claude, just as happy to be out of Company uniform and in a t-shirt, swatted mosquitos and enjoyed his sweet tea. Every year around this time he thought perhaps Odessa wasn't so bad, and he'd forget how he cursed the half-hearted winters and fierce, terrible summers.
Over dinner, Claire and Lyle chattered about school and cheerleading and football, so painfully middle-American that it made Claude smile. There were always parental cautions about not letting grades slip, and that naturally led (Claire was more than clever) to the debate over whether good grades were also grounds for rewards, like access to the car and maybe permission to go on some school trip or other. Bennet helped his wife clean barbecue sauce off her chin, his affection ridiculously evident whenever he looked at her, and the children fought a war that involved continually shifting their unwanted helpings of potato salad from one plate to the next.
"What about you, Claude?" Sandra asked, and Claude looked up from the remains of his steak.
"What's that now?" he asked.
"When are you going to settle down?" she asked, smiling at him. "Or does the Company keep you too busy?"
"Bachelorhood has its benefits," he said, grinning back. "Besides, I've got Bennet to look after."
Bennet's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's in my best interest to keep him to myself," he said.
"Selfish," Sandra said, nudging her husband with her elbow. "Listen, do you remember Ellen, she dropped by last time you were here for dinner?"
"Not contrived at all," Bennet murmured.
"Hush, you. Well, she said she thought you were the most handsome man she'd seen in years. I'll set it all up, if you like."
"Oh, well, ta, but -- " Claude gave her a half-smile. "I'm not the settlin' down sort, me. Besides, I'm holdin' out," he said, and winked at Claire, who giggled. "I do all right."
He hesitated; it wasn't in his nature to make grand statements, and he wasn't sure if Bennet really ever felt comfortable with his presence in their tight-knit little family. Especially since the spectre of Claude's abilities hovered around Claire, always a reminder that maybe some day she'd disappear too, or find herself hovering at second-story level or setting a table without touching the plates.
"Anyhow, got m'self a family already," he said quietly. Sandra smiled warmly.
"The best part," Bennet added. "You never have to ground anyone."
Claude laughed. "S'true. A prime situation, in fact."
"Or do the dishes," Sandra said. "All right, you two, take the plates inside."
She picked up the remains of the meal and followed the children through the sliding-glass door, heckling them into the kitchen. Claude sat back and stretched, staring up at the sky that was darkening blue to black around the edges.
"Claude, I need a favor," Bennet said, and Claude tilted his head forward, cocking it to one side. "It's about Claire."
"Oh aye?" he said, sitting up. "Want some callow youth followed to make sure he's doin' right by her?"
"I wish. She's been -- distracted lately. More distracted than a girl her age ought to be."
"You think she's showin' power?" Claude asked carefully.
"I don't know," Bennet admitted, without meeting Claude's eyes. "Kids, sometimes they'll...tell other people what they won't tell their parents."
"You want me to dutch uncle your daughter?"
"I just want you to...be there. If she is, she needs someone."
"If she is, the Company'll want her."
Bennet raised his face, and Claude saw something in his eyes that he recognised. Anguish and indecision, the same things he'd felt when he'd told Bennet to keep driving, six, seven years ago now. Bennet was having his own crisis of faith, and worse, because she wasn't some farmgirl with pretty blue eyes. She was his daughter.
"No, Bennet," Claude said, shaking his head, sharp worry rising in him. "No, you can't. You can't do a runner with her. They'll get you both."
"I'm not running anywhere. I just need to know. I can plan from there -- "
"There is no plan, Bennet. If she is, they take her, and if she isn't, she isn't. So what you're really asking is for me to talk to her and lie to you, which puts my neck on the line. And the last time I put my neck on the line you sent me up."
"Claude -- "
Sandra slid the door open and peered out. "You boys need anything? We're servin' ice cream cones."
Claude brought up a ready smile. "Chocolate chip?"
Sandra winked at him and glanced at her husband. Bennet wasn't as fast on the draw as Claude; it took him a second to switch. "Sure, hon. Just a cup for me."
She disappeared into the house again. The two men sat in silence, Claude tapping a finger on the table.
"I owe you," Bennet said softly. "I know that. But I haven't got anyone else who can help. You said you could take your medicine if I was careful with the girl and I was. Now I need help for Claire, not for me. And I know you understand that."
"Ice cream!" Claire announced, carrying two ice-cream cones and a small bowl through the door, presenting one cone to Claude and the bowl to her father. Lyle and Sandra followed, Lyle licking up his already-dripping cone. Bennet was still watching Claude.
"I could do a bit of a walk," Claude said, stretching his legs and standing up. "Cub, come along? Tisn't safe out at this time o'night in the suburbs, I hear."
Claire laughed and said sure, and Bennet's look of gratitude was depressing.
"Won't go far," Claude promised, unlatching the gate and holding it open for Claire, who gave him a proper nod and passed through, across the side-yard's grass and out to the pavement. Claude followed, eating his ice cream quietly, strolling along.
"Dad wants you to talk to me about something, doesn't he," she said, as they walked.
"Not much slips by you," he replied.
"You guys aren't the most subtle in the world," she said. "But I'm doing all right in school and I know I can get my bio grades up. And cheerleading isn't going to affect my grades, promise."
"Never figured it would. Besides, there's more important things'n grades, don't tell your dad I tol' you," he said. "Got to know a bit about life, got to have friends."
"Yeah, well," she ducked her head and he wondered if he'd inadvertently hit some nerve other than the one he was angling for. "I don't know that I'd really call Jackie a friend sometimes."
"Sometimes you pick and choose. Sometimes you got to take what's given," he answered noncommittally.
"So what's dad want you to talk to me about?"
Claude shrugged. "This'n'that. He worries about you. Growin' up and all. Thinks you'll tell me things you'd not tell him."
"Are you gonna nark on me if I do?"
"Nah. Hey, Cub, listen now," Claude said, stopping to lean against the rail of a small river bridge. Claire stopped too, biting into her ice cream cone. "He may've asked, but you know I'm not entirely neutral myself when it comes to this family."
"Is that your stuffy way of saying you like us?" Claire asked, grinning.
"Texans." Claude shook his head. "What I'm sayin' is, this isn't you an' your dad's pal. This is you an' me. You say somethin', it stays between us. You need help, that stays between us too. Some things s'better if a dad doesn't know it."
Claire bit her lip, her face falling. "You really mean that?"
"Bennet and I have our secrets from each other, like anyone."
"Really?" she asked curiously.
"Everyone does." He ate the last of his ice-cream and pitched the cone down into the gully for the birds to pick apart. She grinned. "You're growin' up, you're allowed as well. But," he added, "Sometimes you think you got somethin' in hand and you're a bit young to see you haven't really. It's all in knowing what to say and what not to say. Sometimes it's easier to say a thing to a friend."
"Oh," she said, looking thoughtful.
"Grades okay, then? What about a boy?" he winked. "Or a girl?"
"Not really. There's a boy I like, but..." she shook her head. "I could tell Dad about that."
"Then what can't you tell him, hm?" he asked. She twisted her fingers together, face uncertain. "Cub, this stays between you an' me an' the bridge."
"I think I'm a freak," she blurted, then put her hands to her face. "I mean -- I'm not really, but I am, and -- god, I sound so stupid."
"Hey, no, come on now," he said, tugging her hands away. "You're no kind of freak."
"I know, it sounds like something stupid teenagers say, and you wouldn't believe me anyway -- "
"Try me," he suggested, though he could feel his heart thudding. He remembered the look on her face because he'd seen it in a mirror when he was a little younger than she was now. I'm a freak, and nobody's going to believe me.
"You'll tell Dad and they'll put me in some kind of looney bin."
"Nobody's putting anyone in any bin, looney or otherwise," he said. "We'll sort it together, okay?"
"But it sounds so nuts..."
"You'd be surprised all the nuts I've heard that turned out not to be quite so nuts," he said.
"I think I can heal," she whispered. "Like, super-fast. I think I'm kind of...indestructible."
He blinked at her.
"See? It sounds totally crazy -- "
"No, no. It's fine. How d'you mean, indestructible?"
"I -- remember when I cut my hand and it was all healed up in like, two days?"
Claude cast his mind back. "The time your dad came home from California?"
"Yeah. And then like, two weeks ago I was making eggs and I burned my hand and it didn't really...hurt, not like it should, and then it was gone in like thirty seconds." Claire looked close to tears. "I know, I know how it sounds -- "
"No, that's not it," he said, tipping her chin up to make her meet his eyes. "It's okay, Cub. S'okay. I...can you...show me?"
She looked around wildly and her eyes fell on a spur of sharp metal, sticking out of a post on the bridge. She looked up at him, closed her eyes, and slammed her hand down on it. Claude felt bile rise in his throat. It passed cleanly through her hand and stuck through the other side, slicked with blood.
With a grunt she pulled her hand free and held it out to him. The wound closed over with a sucking noise and in seconds the skin had faded to the same colour as the rest of her arm.
The poor kid was shaking, and Claude didn't know what to do. So he held out his own hand, turned it over, and disappeared.
Claire made a low, coughing sort of noise in shock, something close to a strangled scream. It was to her credit that she didn't shriek -- instead she put out her hand and found his chest, pressing her palm against it.
"See, Cub?" he asked, as she looked in vain for a sign he was still there, even though she could feel her hand pressing against his shirt. "I'm special too."
***
Bennet was waiting impatiently when they returned, cleaning the grill while Lyle and Sandra swept up the patio. He glanced up and then down again quickly as Claude and Claire passed through the gate, latching it behind them. Claire smiled up at him, hugged her dad, and ran inside; Claude lingered near the grill, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Well?" Bennet asked, when Sandra and Lyle had followed Claire inside. He didn't look up.
"Oi, Bennet. Stop a mo."
He stopped scrubbing the grill, slowly, and set the rag aside. Finally, he leaned both hands on the rim and looked up at Claude.
"Spoke with her," Claude said quietly. "Can't tell you everything, you know that. Told her it was between us."
"So she's keeping secrets -- "
"All kids keep secrets, otherwise they'd never learn anything worth knowin'," Claude answered, savouring this just a little. He felt petty for wanting revenge, but he couldn't help that.
"What can you tell me?"
Claude grinned. He was a much, much better liar than his partner. "The salacious truth? She has a crush on a boy at school and at some party last week she tried a beer."
Bennet's shoulders sagged with relief. "Oh, my god."
"Yeah, s'terrible, I know."
"Thank you," Bennet murmured.
"Don' thank me. Just don't go and have some talk with her about the dangers of drinkin' or whatnot, I think she learned her lesson there." His grin widened. "When Lyle needs a bit'a straightenin' out, just give a call, eh? The Doctor Is In."
"She's just -- too young yet."
Claude nodded. "Full well too young. Still, never to fret; perhaps you'll luck out and she'll end up entirely ordinary."
"Claire's never going to be ordinary."
"Every dad says that." Claude slapped him on the shoulder and made for the door. "In with you; I'm off home and that grill's going to fall apart if you scrub it any further."
***
He needed to work fast, because sooner or later he'd be debriefed again and he couldn't trust the Haitian to keep things quiet. Besides, no point putting the other man in danger if he decided he should. He had to get Claire safely out of Texas and make sure she stayed safe; that meant taking her himself, because he couldn't trust anyone else and she was too young to go on her own. But he couldn't trust anyone else to help him get the chip out either, and he couldn't take her anywhere if he had that goddamn chip still in his body.
He had a little time, but it was borrowed time; since the debacle in California, when he'd proved he could work solo without automatically defaulting, they hadn't bothered debriefing him fully. It was some kind of measure of trust, but not enough, and any day he might run into a telepath or they might get suspicious and start up the scans again.
Then came Isaac Mendez, the man who painted Claire.
The report came through Eden but it came across Claude's desk first, seeing as how Claude had trained her after Bennet broke her of that nasty little attitude. He didn't destroy the file this time; he filed it properly and with all due process and just happened to leave out the part about what was in some of the paintings. He went to New York with Eden to bring Isaac back to Odessa, and he knew that he would certainly have to bolt if they tried to debrief him, but nothing came of it. Bennet, blissfully unaware, complained about how much it cost to buy Claire's dress for Homecoming.
Claude hadn't spoken directly with Claire, alone, since that night in September, and he hadn't told her nearly everything. Not what her father did, not who her mother was, not why it was so important to keep this secret; the last was pretty evident anyway. He'd just asked her to sit tight and act normal or they'd both be in hot water, and she was quite the soldier about it. Sooner or later, though, they had to speak again, because he was damned if he'd let her go into danger unaware.
The opportunity came to him, oddly enough, in the form of Claire showing up at Primatech to try and get some paper for a Homecoming banner. Bennet was busy wrestling with Mendez and doing prelim research on a possible shape-shifter; Claude volunteered to show Claire the sample room and help her find something appropriate.
"I want a word and we don't have much time," he said quietly, aware of just how dangerous this was. The sample room was a dummy part of the building and there weren't bugs or cameras, but an invisible man knows how easy it is to hear other peoples' talk. "Don't ask questions, just listen."
Claire nodded, studying the dimensions-sheet he was showing her.
"There's a man who sees the future and he says you're in danger. Someone wants to kill you and he's going to try to do it at your Homecoming. Don't talk," he said, when she opened her mouth. "I'm goin' to make sure that doesn't happen, but you have to trust me and act normal. You're hard to kill, so that makes it easier. Once you leave the house I'm goin' to be with you every step you take, even if you can't see me, right? I'm goin' to be there and I'm goin' to have a gun."
"Who -- "
"Don't know that," Claude said, setting the dimensions sheet down and wandering over to a bin of paper rolls. She followed, dutifully peering at the various papers he held out to her. "There's nothin' I can do before then, there's not enough time. Trust me, Claire."
She glanced up at him, tugging one of the rolls of paper out of the bin. He studied it, then looked through one end of the roll at her, using it like a telescope. She couldn't help but laugh.
***
TWO WEEKS AGO
His major mistake was in following the wrong man.
Well, what was he supposed to think when some stranger, obviously too old to be a student, was lurking in the darkened hallways of the school? When Claire stopped to talk to him Claude nearly smacked the back of her head, because the last thing he wanted was for her to draw attention to herself. Still, it gave him time to get a good look at this dark-haired man who seemed all too interested in the cheerleaders, even for a so-called alumnus.
He followed the man out of the school, watching cautiously as he turned and faced the doors. He should be with Claire, he'd said he would be, but he didn't really want to barge into a locker room full of half-dressed cheerleaders, either. Contrary to what most men might have thought, invisibly watching a bunch of teenaged girls undress was not his idea of a good time.
The man took a photo out of his pocket and held it up; Claude circled around to peer at it over his shoulder, and that was when the man elbowed him directly in the stomach.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, whirling and grabbing Claude by the front of his shirt.
"You can see me," Claude breathed, startled, and then surged forward, grasping the kid by the throat. "Nobody sees me!"
They slammed into the wall together, Claude still gripping him by the throat.
"Who are you?" he demanded, pressing the gun into the man's belly. "What do you want with that girl?"
"Nobody, I'm here -- I'm here to save someone!"
"How come you can see me?"
"I -- I can do what you can do!" the man stammered, and Claude eased back, letting him drop to the ground. They stared at each other, both breathing hard.
"You're one'a them," Claude said, realising what he was seeing. The Company's holy grail; an Empath, alive, reasonably sane-looking, here, in his posession.
"One of who?" the man asked. His eyes flicked to the gun. "I'm not gonna let you kill her."
"I'm not here to kill anyone, you moron," Claude retorted.
"Well, neither am I!"
"Then who -- " Claude started, then froze. If he was here, and someone else was here who was not in fact the man who wanted to kill Claire, then that meant someone else was here...
"Come on," he said, grabbing the man by his shirtfront and pulling him fully upright. Even as they ran for the doors, he heard someone scream.
He bolted down the hallway, the Empath at his heels, just as Claire came running out of the locker room, blood in her hair. He flickered into visibility, but he didn't stop.
"Run! Go!" he shouted, as they passed each other. A dim figure lurched through the door after her. Claude slammed into him, knocking them both back into the wall, and fired three solid bullets into his chest.
Or tried.
The gun clicked uselessly and the man raised horrifying, dead-empty eyes to his.
"Nice toy," he said, and flung Claude away like a rag doll.
Claude fell and saw stars, but he fumbled against the smooth linoleum and tried to push himself up. He could see the Empath standing at the end of the hall, barring the murderer's way. He raised the gun and fired twice more. This time the bullets left the weapon, but they seemed to fly wide in physically impossible ways.
Metal creaked as the man flung locker doors at the Empath -- a Telekinetic, then.
He managed to push himself up and follow where the Telekinetic went, slowly and limpingly; he saw Claire run along the ridge of the ampitheatre, then saw...
Telekinetics couldn't fly. It was a physical trait. It was like lifting yourself off the ground by grabbing your shoes and pulling; it just didn't work. But this man flew. Which meant he had more than one talent, which meant --
Two Empaths.
Two Empaths.
Two Empaths fighting, struggling on the ledge, and even as Claude staggered forward, two Empaths falling backwards off the ledge.
He cursed under his breath and ran for the doors, his left leg hurting badly, blood dripping from a cut across his right arm and sluggishly soaking his shirt.
By the time he made it through the door, Claire was there, standing and facing one of the Empaths. The other one, the one who'd been after her, was gone; Claude watched in fascination as the remaining man twisted half his body a hundred and eighty degrees to realign his legs with his torso.
The gun wouldn't do much good, but he kept the safety off anyway, sweeping the area, looking for the other Empath. Claire crouched in front of the man sitting bewilderedly on the pavement.
"Where is he?" Claude demanded.
"He ran away," Claire said, putting out a hand to touch the Empath. She pressed it against his throat, then against his chest, as if she couldn't believe he were real. Claude hauled her up by her other arm and put his body physically between her and the most open part of the campus.
"The police," the Empath said, breathing heavily.
"They can't help," Claude replied. "What's your name?"
"Peter," he said. "Petrelli."
"Get up. Come on, we haven't got any time," Claude said, reaching around Claire to give him a hand up. "Why're you here?"
"I was told..." Peter touched his own face, disbelievingly, feeling for cuts and bruises that were no longer there. "Is she the cheerleader? Saving her, did I save the world?"
"What?" Claude asked.
"I was told I had to save the cheerleader to save the world," Peter said. Claire looked up at Claude. "I came here to save her."
"Well, your job's not done yet, sonny me lad," Claude said, making a decision in the split second available to him. He turned to Claire.
"You got to get out of Odessa," he said. "And you got to do it now, because after tonight they'll know and they'll come after you."
"Who -- "
"There's no time, do you get that?" Claude said. "You. Petrelli. You want to save a cheerleader?"
He thrust Claire at him, because otherwise he was going to lose his guts and then Claire would never be safe.
"Get her out of here. Get her out of Texas. Take her wherever it is you're from and keep her safe. I'll catch up with you."
"How?" Peter asked, as Claire stared at Claude in dismay.
"I'll find you, don't fret yourself about that. Go. Now. Here." He thrust all the money he had on him, fifty dollars and a few singles, into Claire's hands. "This is your one chance to get free with no trail. Run!"
If Claire didn't comprehend what was going on, at least Peter Petrelli seemed to have a grip on the concept of "run away"; he pulled her after him into the darkness, and Claude -- a man covered in blood, holding a gun, and breathing hard -- very sensibly disappeared.
***
Bennet went out of his mind with fear and worry.
Jackie was dead and Claire was missing; Claude couldn't even reassure him that she was alive and safe with some stranger who was willing to risk his life for Claire. The guilt gnawed away at him, but with Claire gone he could focus on getting rid of the chip and finding her. He didn't dare so much as enter Peter's name into the Company database until he was ready to move.
Wherever they had gone, it was a damn good hiding place.
The Company assumed that some Special had come to take Claire, and they had some information about a man who killed people by taking the tops of their heads off, which shifted blame away from Claude quite neatly.
It was two days -- two absolutely horrifying days of Bennet in agony and Claude trying to pretend it was grief and not elation he felt. Two days before the Haitian came to his back door one night and opened his mouth and talked.
"I know you concealed her," he said, leaning against the deadbolted door. Claude's jaw literally dropped open. "I have come to help."
He passed the stunned man and walked into the kitchen, setting a small cloth bundle on the counter. Claude followed.
"You...talk," he said.
"Yes," the Haitian agreed. "We all have our secrets. I have come to tell you that Claire Bennet is safe with her father."
"She's not -- "
"Her birth father."
Claude wasn't certain how much shock he could take at one time without having some kind of health issue, but he was pretty sure he was reaching his limit.
"I answer to an authority outside of the Company who supercedes yourself and Mr. Bennet, in the case of Claire Bennet's safety," the Haitian continued, undoing the bundle. "Through Claire, she has learned of your service to the Petrelli family and wishes to help."
"Petrelli. That's the Empath's name," Claude said numbly.
"Also the name of his brother, Claire's father." The Haitian unrolled the bundle. Light gleamed off sharp metal blades and a small glass bottle. Claude eyed the surgical kit warily.
"There is new identification awaiting you when this is finished," the Haitian said, removing the little bottle and a syringe. "It will be painless, and will not take long."
"Whoa, ho, no," Claude said, backing away. The Haitian filled the syringe, tested it, and set it down. "Nobody's cuttin' into me. That thing's impossible to get to."
"So you were told, of course," the Haitian replied. "It is all sterile. There is no need to fear."
"No need to fear you comin' near me with sharp objects ten minutes after I learn you can talk for the first time in fourteen years?" Claude asked.
"Take off your shirt, and rub this on your skin," the Haitian said, tossing him a bottle of iodine. "If you leave work tomorrow evening and go directly to the airport, you will have a fourteen-hour head start. That will be enough, if they think the chip is still active."
***
When Bennet unlocked Claude's door with a spare key he'd been given years before, he found the apartment empty of human presence, even after a sweep with thermographic goggles. The place was tidy, though he noticed a few things were missing -- there weren't enough clothes in his dresser, his watch was gone, and some of the photograph frames on his walls were empty.
There was also a handwritten note on his clean, bare dining-room table. It was held down by a small piece of metal, crusted with dried blood.
Claire is alive and safe. The Company cannot have her. Do not attempt to follow her. Do not attempt to follow me. -- C.R.
Bennet lifted the note carefully, folding it and putting it in a plastic evidence bag. He would tell the Company, of course, but this way he was innocent and Claire was safe.
He owed Claude more than he could ever repay, and he would never have a chance to even try. He owed Claude the life of a daughter he would probably never see again.
"So, that's my punishment for turning you in," he said to himself, closing the door and locking it carefully behind him. "Slow in coming, but every inch effective. Well done, Claude."
END
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That can't be the end!
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Yay Haitian!!
I love Claude and Peter facing off while Silar goes after Claire...again that inevitability.
What a powerful AU.
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I understand that this is AU, but no matter what it is just SO out of character for me if Claude had actually turned in the person he was hiding. However, you did a good job with it. Seriously.
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And I couldn't resist putting Jack in. From now on, every Heroes fic gets a Jack cameo. I'd like to think that in this case he escapes the Company, finds his way to New York, and gets a job at the bagel place next door to Congressman Petrelli's office....
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Hee!! Yay Jack! That was so fantastic. I think all fics you write should have a Jack cameo. :D
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You are King. King of Everything.
The reference to Jack! "The Doctor Is In". Peter. Sylar. The Haitian. Everything.
Brilliance.
I don't like "The End" though. I want more! XD
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Very sweet story.
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I love the potential claude/claire (not / in the sex way, but just in the... you know, association way) dynamic that didn't actually happen on account of him getting shot.
I especially love how it keeps showing up in your stories <333 brilliant!
DAMN!!
Amazing how you play with the Events That Have To Happen. Amazing how you create Claude's manner of speaking. Amazing how tight and coherent and occasionally - never too much - poetic it is. You have the chops. I bow.
I love how Claude calls Claire "Cub" - a nice extension of ClaireBear, which is one of the things that makes my heart swell to three times its normal shriveled size. :)
The Doctor Is In
I am so glad I wasn't drinking anything when i read this because I gave this huge *SNERK!* that was probably audible across the river.
What else can I say? My ass was kicked!
Re: DAMN!!
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(Anonymous) 2008-01-07 04:43 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
Really enjoyed this - thanks!
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