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sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:31 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:31 am
Entry tags:
The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Two
Title: The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Two: A Family Decision
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Matt meditates, Jessica flies, Isaac paints, Nathan meets Claire, Jack trips out, and Ando has a revelation.
Notes: Utilityknife has done some absolutely gorgeous artwork for my Isaac entries. if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 3.12.07
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - ODESSA, TEXAS
Matt didn't know what was going on, but he had the sinking feeling -- one he'd had many times in a life brim-full of mediocrity -- that he'd made the wrong decision. Actually, no; a chain of wrong decisions.
Down in the cells -- perhaps they were in the paper factory -- he could still hear things. He could Hear them, when he tried hard.
He had come to understand that the dangerous ones were kept somewhere else, somewhere they couldn't use their powers at all, and he had purposefully been as docile as possible, trying not to be put there. It didn't come easy to a cop. Even off-duty, people expected you to take charge.
He could hear Bennett coming around in the next cell over, even if Bennett had no idea he was there. He heard the first waking thoughts: Claire -- Lyle -- Sandra. He felt Bennett's pain, the pain of a prolonged interrogation, the fear of being a prisoner in one of his own cages, the horror over what may have happened to his family, to his children. He heard what the men had told him about his wife and son.
Matt kept quiet.
Then in a rush, all the memories of what had happened flooded him just as they flooded Bennett's mind. Christ, when he was alone Bennett was totally unguarded. Matt heard everything. The memory loss, the message from his wife, the letter in his own handwriting, the cleanup in New York...
Bennett knew how to put Matt's gift to use. Bennett was good at thinking ahead. Matt wasn't, and he knew it.
Matt sat in his solitary room, the room they said they'd let him out of, and concentrated. He concentrated so hard his ears began to roar. Surely if he could hear then he could talk as well. If other peoples' thoughts were so crystal clear to him, big dumb Matt Parkman, it couldn't be that hard.
He concentrated on a single word, on his name -- a meditation he would have been surprised to know was much older than himself. He wanted to make Bennett hear him, if only because there was nothing else to do in the cell.
Parkman. Parkman. Parkman.
***
NATHAN PETRELLI - NYC
A limo met Nathan at the airport, instead of his usual sedan, and the driver told him his wife sent her greetings but she was in a charity board meeting all day. Nathan couldn't have been happier, really, though he felt a guilty twinge about that. He shouldn't be avoiding Heidi.
"Your mother has asked me to take you straight to your brother's apartment," the driver said, holding the door for him.
"We are all at the mercy of my mother," Nathan replied, and tried to smile. Once inside, he put the front-seat barrier up for privacy and opened his briefcase. He had campaigning to do; work couldn't wait just because he felt like he'd been beaten with lead pipes all night.
There was a soft rustling noise nearby and, when he looked up, someone was sitting in his car.
"Yargh," he managed, and fumbled for the driver-phone. The man put out a hand and clamped it firmly in place.
"Hullo, friend," he said.
He looked scruffy -- he looked homeless. Nathan leaned back slowly.
"Whatever you want, just take it and get out," he said. The man smiled.
"I don't want anything, other than a little favour," he replied.
"Is there anyone who doesn't want one of those from me?" Nathan asked wearily.
"You're a politician; aren't you supposed to enjoy serving the common man?" he asked. "Not that I'm a constituent, I don't vote. Illegal alien and all."
"The accent tipped me off," Nathan said drily.
"But it behooves you all the same," the man continued, "to carry a message for me. In return, I can make you an offer of something much more valuable than favours."
"What's that?"
"Information," the man said. "Like the fact that when you go up the stairs to wee Peter's flat, your daughter's going to be waiting for you there."
"My -- what?" Nathan asked.
"Daughter," the man said. "Forewarned is forearmed; don't let you mum bowl you over with it, that gives her the upper hand. In the meantime, help out a friend in need. I can be a good friend to you, Petrelli. Ask your brother."
"Who are you?" Nathan asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Nobody," the man replied. "I just want you to tell your brother something."
Nathan spread his hands, invitingly.
"Tell him they're both gone, and if he wants to find me he knows where I am," he said. "Tell him to follow his priorities. And if I were you, brother, I'd get that girl of yours out of the country as fast as possible."
Then he disappeared.
"I have had about enough of this shit," Nathan muttered.
***
JESSICA AND MICAH SANDERS AND DL HAWKINS - LAS VEGAS
"Wake up, sleepyhead!"
Micah drifted into consciousness with a giggle, because Mom was tickling him.
"Wake uuuuuup!" she sang, flopping down on the edge of the bed. He sat up and grinned, yawning.
"Morning," Dad called from the other room.
"Hey, I've got a surprise for you," Mom said.
"What's that?" Micah asked, as Dad walked into the room. Both of them were grinning.
"Well, we are going on a vacation," Mom declared, holding up an envelope. Micah opened it and saw three plane tickets to New York. "I got into a special school for casino dealers and we get to spend three weeks in New York!"
"Really?" Micah asked, bouncing excitedly.
"You still gotta do your schoolwork," Dad said from the doorway. "We're going to have your teachers give you all your assignments today before we leave."
"Are we gonna stay in a hotel?" Micah asked.
"Yeeees," Mom answered.
"And eat room service?"
"Maybe once or twice," she replied.
"And go to the Empire State Building?"
"How bout we have breakfast first," Dad said.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
ANDO - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
THE FUTURE
When Hiro vanished, Ando turned to face the firestorm alone. It was coming at an alarming rate and he saw, behind it, the mushroom cloud rising from the center of the city.
That single second seemed to take forever, the fire slowing down even as Ando's thought processes sped up. In a crystal moment he comprehended everything: the road they had followed to reach this point, the inevitability of human destiny, the fact that Ando Masahashi would soon cease to exist -- and the fact that he, Ando, could face death head-on and unflinchingly. He had helped Hiro acquire the sword; that was enough, and he could die honourably.
Then a hand touched his shoulder and, with a jerk, the fire and the cloud and the heat and the impending death all disappeared. Instead, he was standing on a streetcorner, in the middle of the unblemished day.
"Ando-kun."
Ando turned around. Hiro stood behind him, but not his Hiro, that much was clear. Hiro -- older, careworn, with a funny little beard and strange clothing.
"I don't have much time," this not-Hiro said, heedless of the people around them, all of whom were frozen in place.
"You saved me!" Ando exclaimed.
"Yes. Today it is two days before you leave Las Vegas; if you wait here, you will be reunited soon. Tell him what has happened, and not to worry." Not-Hiro gave him a funny sort of smile.
"But what -- "
"Find Hiro; find Peter Petrelli; save the Cheerleader, save the world," he said, and disappeared. The people around Ando began to move again, talk and laugh and hail taxicabs.
Ando looked around him. He was back in the great, confusing, overwhelming mass of humanity that was New York City; he had the clothes on his back, a gun, and about three dollars in his pocket. A week ago he would have waited for Hiro, shouted at him, and tried to beat some sense into that thick skull of his. He might even have tried that a few days ago.
Now, though, he'd looked the maelstrom in the face and survived. He'd prepared for death, and the fact that he had been rescued had not changed that. He was beyond death now; all time between now and when he died was a gift.
Ando grinned. He felt like a samurai.
Even without a sword.
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - NYC
Peter sensed, dimly, that his family as a whole was reaching the breaking point. His mother, tense and concerned about Claire, was sharp and brittle; Claire herself paced and fretted, waiting to meet the father she'd never seen. God only knew what had happened to Nathan in Las Vegas.
Peter didn't even know which way to turn anymore. He knew that Claude had come back for him, but he didn't know why, and as soon as Claude encountered Claire the older man had clammed up and vanished. His mother had explained to him that Claire was his niece, and how that had come about, which did sort of fit in with some memories Peter had of his brother at a younger age.
Sylar had tried to kill him. Mohinder might be dead. Simone was dead. Isaac might be in prison by now.
Peter found himself impatient for Nathan to arrive home. Nathan had made his life difficult in the past few weeks, Nathan had used him for his own political gain and had ignored him when he didn't fit the perfect-Petrelli-family mold, but -- Nathan was his brother. When he was a kid, really little, Nathan used to read him comic books and take him for walks. He wanted his big brother. Even more so than his mother or his tormented father, Nathan had been the comforting constant in his childhood.
Failing Nathan, Claude would do, but apparently Claude was still either pissed at him or in hiding.
When the door opened, Peter leapt to his feet and the Haitian placed himself subtly between the door and Claire, as if he were expecting trained assassins. Peter didn't think he could cope with trained assassins, not after the night he'd had, but it was okay; it was Nathan.
"Hello, sweetheart," their mother said, kissing Nathan on the cheek and hugging him tightly. Nathan winked at Peter over Mom's shoulder, rubbing her back affectionately. Peter would say this about Nathan -- he knew how to put a room at ease.
"Glad to see you, Peter," he said gravely, gripping Peter's shoulder. "You okay?"
Peter nodded. "Good you're back."
"Thanks. Hey, who's your friend?" he asked, indicating the Haitian with a jerk of his head.
"Just a bodyguard," the man answered, and stepped aside.
Claire stood there, fingers twined together, toes turned in, an odd picture of shyness. Peter glanced at Nathan, but didn't see the confusion he expected. Nathan seemed to comprehend what was going on, and right before Mom opened her mouth to stun him further, Nathan spoke.
"And you must be Claire," he said, his voice low and unsteady. She tilted up her chin just slightly when he said her name. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Peter saw the expression on his mother's face and it dawned on him that there was a game being played. Mom wanted Nathan to agree to something, and she wanted him to be so bewildered by his daughter's presence that he would do whatever she told him. Nathan had somehow got one jump ahead of her, and she was recalculating her strategies.
"Claire is the reason I asked you to come directly here," Mom said, but she might as well have been shouting into a black hole. In that moment in time, nobody but Claire even existed for Nathan. And, Peter suspected, everyone but Nathan was background noise to Claire.
"You look like your mother," Nathan said.
"I thought you'd be blond," Claire replied.
"No -- no, I'm not," Nathan said. Peter began to get a trifle impatient. "When did you arrive? In New York, I mean."
"Last night," Claire answered. "I uh. I was looking for Peter, actually."
Nathan glanced at Peter. "You knew about her?"
"Yeah, but -- " Peter gestured at the girl. "I didn't know she was family or anything. She's the one, Nathan. The cheerleader."
"This -- she's the one?"
"The one I saved. Using the painting?" Peter said. He heard an edge in his voice that he didn't like, and tried to tone it down. Especially since Mom was now looking at him approvingly, as if he'd done what she couldn't do in putting Nathan off his stride.
Peter weighed the moment and made a decision. If Mom and Nathan were on different sides, that meant Claire was in the middle. If he was going to pick a faction, he'd pick Claire's.
"If you boys are done bickering, we have important things to discuss," Mom said. "Claire's in danger in New York; we have to decide what's to be done with her. She objects to the very sensible idea of sending her out of the country."
"I don't want to go," Claire said. There was a certain teenage stridence to her tone that sounded awfully familiar to Peter. "I want to stay here."
"Course she wants to stay here," Nathan said, still staring at her. He hadn't moved, as if he were afraid to touch her.
"With Peter," Claire added. Nathan frowned. "I trust him. He can protect me."
"Peter can't even protect himself," their mother declared.
"Thanks, Ma," Peter retorted.
"You'd have been beheaded if it weren't for that horrible Irishman," Mom said.
"He's not Irish, and he saved my life," Peter said hotly. He saw Nathan turn slowly to look at him.
"What Irishman?" Nathan asked distantly.
"He's not Irish!"
Nathan waved this off in irritation. "Scruffy? Beard, and...hair?" he gestured to his forehead, drawing the unmistakeable outline of Claude's messy forelock.
"Yeah," Peter said, curious now. "How do you know him?"
"I bumped into him," Nathan said.
***
NIKI/JESSICA - SOMEWHERE OVER ILLINOIS
Micah, overexcited by his first actual airplane trip ever, promptly fell asleep as soon as they were airborne.
DL was in the window seat, like a gentleman, and was pensively staring out at the clouds, like a dumbass.
Jessica was aware that DL was nervous about this trip, not only because it was sponsored by Linderman but because DL was increasingly suspicious of his wife and what she could do. He'd be keeping a close watch on her, and she couldn't risk any more interruptions by Niki. She was doing this for Niki's own good, after all.
And who said she couldn't enjoy it while she did it, anyway?
Jessica liked looking after Micah so long as it didn't interfere with what she wanted to do, and she liked DL in the same way she might be fond of a dog, as long as the dog didn't poo on the floor or chew on her shoes. Niki enjoyed being the Mommy, so if Niki ever agreed to a logical sharing of the body like she should, Niki could be let out to look after the kid and the husband. All Jessica asked was that Niki not interfere with the part of their mutual life that made everything work.
The paperwork from Linderman had long since been memorised and burned, at least what there was of it. She had a contact to report to in New York, who would supply her with a weapon and additional instructions. Her goal was to make sure that Nathan Petrelli won his election, and her means were to be whatever she saw fit. She wondered who you talked to about ballot-box stuffing. Not that anyone used ballotboxes anymore; it was all done on computer now.
She glanced at Micah, sleeping next to her. The kid was a brat, but he did have skills. She wondered if it was possible to talk him into giving mommy a hand. Probably not.
Well, then she's just have to do it the hard way.
She reflected, as they flew, that Petrelli had been a good fuck. A little desperate, sure, but what did she expect from a guy whose wife was in a wheelchair?
If she played the Niki card, she could probably get him alone again. And she didn't really think there was a man alive who could resist her if she got him alone.
One way or another.
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - NYC
"We still need to decide what's to be done with Claire," Mom insisted, and Nathan rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Do I get a say in this at all?" Claire asked, sulkily.
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous."
"Ma, knock it off for a minute, okay?" Nathan said. Everyone looked at him as if he'd blasphemed. "You said this was a family decision. She's my daughter."
His mother got that drawn-mouthed, tight-lipped look she always got when she was annoyed. "Fine. You sort it out."
"Just...have a seat, jeez," he said, gesturing Claire towards the couch. "Peter, kitchen?"
"Sure," Peter said, looking perplexed. He followed Nathan into the kitchen, watching the way he used to watch when they were kids -- more trustful than he'd been in months, possibly years.
"What's up?" he asked quietly, as they stood at the far end of the hallway. Nathan glanced up at Claire, eyeing them through the door.
"I met your friend this morning. He showed up in my car," Nathan said.
"Claude?"
"Scruffy English guy?"
Peter grinned. "Yeah, that's Claude. What'd he say? Is he pissed?"
"Didn't seem like it. He gave me a message for you."
"Yeah, what -- " Peter stopped when Nathan grabbed his shoulder, fingers flexing gently.
"Peter."
"What?"
"I want you to promise me when I tell you this you won't run off again. Every time you run without thinking you get hurt. This has gotta stop," Nathan said. "Whatever this means, whatever you take from it, we're going to sit here and work it out together, okay?"
Peter set his jaw. "You have to deal with Claire right now."
"You think I can't do both?"
"I think I'll do what needs to be done. If it had been up to you, Claire'd be dead right now."
"You think I don't know that? If it had been up to you, you'd have died last night."
"Are you gonna tell me what Claude said or not?"
Nathan glanced at Claire, then back down at Peter. He owed Peter for his daughter's life, and he owed Claude for his brother's.
"He said to tell you they're both gone, and if you want to find him you know where he is. He says to follow your priorities," he added. Peter drew back, dismayed and thoughtful. "Do you even know what that means?"
Peter turned around to study Claire.
"Yeah," he said. "It means this is where I have to be right now. At least until we've made sure she'll be safe."
"Then what?"
"Claude can help me. He taught me how to control what I already have. I know he knows more." Peter looked thoughtful. "I should try to find Mohinder."
"Suresh? You think he can still help? From the sound of things..."
"Can't hurt, can it?" Peter said. "What're you going to do about Claire?"
"You think we ought to do what Ma wants? Get her out of the country?"
"Save the cheerleader, save the world," Peter recited.
"I thought you already did that."
"She look safe to you?"
"So," Nathan said. "We want her in New York. Where we can protect her."
"Yeah."
"Not in my house. Do you know what Heidi would -- "
"Yeah, I can imagine," Peter said, grinning. "She can stay here."
"I don't know that here's any safer," Nathan said. "Let's just work on keeping her in New York for now. You got my back?"
An odd look crossed Peter's face. "You need me to have your back?"
"Well, yeah," Nathan said. Peter's grin could have lit the room.
"Okay then."
***
JACK BAKER - OJAI, CALIFORNIA
Jack Baker woke up one morning and knew where everything was.
He stepped directly over the toy train at the foot of his bed, left there by one of the sibs, and walked to the bathroom, where he not only picked up the tweezers that had fallen down between sink and bathtub, but swiped his mother's bottle of Vicodin from its hiding place inside the bigger, empty bottle of Mylanta. Coming down the stairs, he took Mom's keys out of her coat pocket and threw them on the counter so she'd see them. Dad passed with a plate of waffles right as he walked into the kitchen, so he snagged two without him even noticing. He reached around the door, grabbed one of the twins, and shoved him into his seat around the family breakfast table.
On his way out the door after eating, he picked up the remote June had shoved in dad's shoe and put it back on the couch, then located his keys in yesterday's jeans and got into the car. Richard, the twins, and Amy piled in after him while he was reaching under the driver's seat to dig out the copy of A Tale Of Two Cities he'd left there last semester.
He made good time dropping off the sibs, only slowing down when he could tell there was a cop in a speed trap ahead. He found the closest possible parking space (he was certain), took it, and walked into school. Molly White had a stash in her locker, so he went to Molly's locker before first period, turned the combination lock till he knew the tumblers were in the right place, and opened it. He took the stash and closed the locker behind him. Even as he shoved it in his pocket he heard the bell ring and saw the principal walking up to the bank of lockers with a pair of cops. Random search. Score for Molly and for Jack.
All day he kept finding shit -- twenty bucks and change in addition to Molly's pot, plus three pencils, a couple of paperclips, and half a pack of cigarettes. Jack didn't question. He had a theory that when you were at one with the world, things worked out for you, and clearly he had finally reached the zone. Sure, it had taken him till his Senior year, but hey, he was at least one up on some part of the population.
That afternoon he did the rounds, picking up his siblings and reminding Amy that she left her thermos in the classroom. While she ran back to get it, he found thirty cents and a baseball in the bushes nearby. At dinner, he carefully picked every single bone out of his fish, which was awesome because he hated fish bones.
"You've been awfully quiet today," Mom said at dinner.
"Oh, just, you know. Feelin' it," Jack said.
"Right on," Dad answered. Dad had been at Woodstock, and never let Jack forget it, even if he'd been like, eight at the time. "In the zone?"
"And rocking it out," Jack replied. His dad pumped his fist in the air, and the twins imitated him.
"All right, homework time," Mom said, and Jack shooed the little ones upstairs.
"Hey, listen, I got a book report," he told his father, who nodded sagely. "The noise in here's kinda harsh, you know? Imma run out and get some work done in the storage shed."
Whether his parents really were that dumb, or whether they were just relieved that Jack's grades were holding A+ steady, Jack didn't know. He did know his parents had given him run of the storage shed out back, his privilege as the oldest child, and nobody was to bug Jack or his pals when they were studying in the shed.
Jack grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and his backpack and retreated to the shed. He sat down, set up his notebook and schoolbooks just in case, and tossed back one of Mom's pills before filling the pipe (dude, he'd been looking for that pipe for weeks) that had rolled under the nonfunctional weed-whacker.
Jack was no idiot, and he'd done a lot of research during Chem class last year. He knew that marijuana wasn't a hallucinogen. His last conscious thought as he swirled down into the hallucination was that this couldn't possibly be happening.
His first conscious thought on waking was that, of all the stupid shit to see on your first trip out of reality, he saw a fucking Nissan Versa in a Las Vegas airport parking lot.
His second thought was that his spirit walk had come, and Dad was going to be really pissed that he didn't graduate high school first.
Next time, on Heroes ("But Can You Fix It?"):
Funny world. Mohinder had followed so closely in his father's footsteps, almost as if Sylar were guiding both of them. And when a child rebelled against a guiding hand, sometimes they needed punishment.
"I know what you're going to say, there's the campaign, but really, Ma. My family is what's most important to me right now. And we'll, you know. We'll break it to Heidi somehow."
Mr. Isaac turned around then, fetching up a canvas knife from a nearby tray as he did so. Hiro saw the knife first and leaned back in time to avoid having his throat slit; Ando was already backing towards the stairs.
"This coma he's in...could last a few days, a week, could be the rest of his life. We simply don't have enough information yet."
"Like us. Me and Peter. And my mom. Are you special? Different?"
"Ah...I'm all out of...justice...league...fortresses at the moment," Nathan said. "But I think I can help you out."
Dear Parents, I'm going on walkabout. Don't worry, I have money and I packed a sandwich. Love, Jack.
And Matt, finally, has luck turn his way:
The sound of Bennett's lips parting, a crackling, dry kind of noise, was the sweetest sound Matt ever heard.
Chapter Three
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Matt meditates, Jessica flies, Isaac paints, Nathan meets Claire, Jack trips out, and Ando has a revelation.
Notes: Utilityknife has done some absolutely gorgeous artwork for my Isaac entries. if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 3.12.07
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - ODESSA, TEXAS
Matt didn't know what was going on, but he had the sinking feeling -- one he'd had many times in a life brim-full of mediocrity -- that he'd made the wrong decision. Actually, no; a chain of wrong decisions.
Down in the cells -- perhaps they were in the paper factory -- he could still hear things. He could Hear them, when he tried hard.
He had come to understand that the dangerous ones were kept somewhere else, somewhere they couldn't use their powers at all, and he had purposefully been as docile as possible, trying not to be put there. It didn't come easy to a cop. Even off-duty, people expected you to take charge.
He could hear Bennett coming around in the next cell over, even if Bennett had no idea he was there. He heard the first waking thoughts: Claire -- Lyle -- Sandra. He felt Bennett's pain, the pain of a prolonged interrogation, the fear of being a prisoner in one of his own cages, the horror over what may have happened to his family, to his children. He heard what the men had told him about his wife and son.
Matt kept quiet.
Then in a rush, all the memories of what had happened flooded him just as they flooded Bennett's mind. Christ, when he was alone Bennett was totally unguarded. Matt heard everything. The memory loss, the message from his wife, the letter in his own handwriting, the cleanup in New York...
Bennett knew how to put Matt's gift to use. Bennett was good at thinking ahead. Matt wasn't, and he knew it.
Matt sat in his solitary room, the room they said they'd let him out of, and concentrated. He concentrated so hard his ears began to roar. Surely if he could hear then he could talk as well. If other peoples' thoughts were so crystal clear to him, big dumb Matt Parkman, it couldn't be that hard.
He concentrated on a single word, on his name -- a meditation he would have been surprised to know was much older than himself. He wanted to make Bennett hear him, if only because there was nothing else to do in the cell.
Parkman. Parkman. Parkman.
***
NATHAN PETRELLI - NYC
A limo met Nathan at the airport, instead of his usual sedan, and the driver told him his wife sent her greetings but she was in a charity board meeting all day. Nathan couldn't have been happier, really, though he felt a guilty twinge about that. He shouldn't be avoiding Heidi.
"Your mother has asked me to take you straight to your brother's apartment," the driver said, holding the door for him.
"We are all at the mercy of my mother," Nathan replied, and tried to smile. Once inside, he put the front-seat barrier up for privacy and opened his briefcase. He had campaigning to do; work couldn't wait just because he felt like he'd been beaten with lead pipes all night.
There was a soft rustling noise nearby and, when he looked up, someone was sitting in his car.
"Yargh," he managed, and fumbled for the driver-phone. The man put out a hand and clamped it firmly in place.
"Hullo, friend," he said.
He looked scruffy -- he looked homeless. Nathan leaned back slowly.
"Whatever you want, just take it and get out," he said. The man smiled.
"I don't want anything, other than a little favour," he replied.
"Is there anyone who doesn't want one of those from me?" Nathan asked wearily.
"You're a politician; aren't you supposed to enjoy serving the common man?" he asked. "Not that I'm a constituent, I don't vote. Illegal alien and all."
"The accent tipped me off," Nathan said drily.
"But it behooves you all the same," the man continued, "to carry a message for me. In return, I can make you an offer of something much more valuable than favours."
"What's that?"
"Information," the man said. "Like the fact that when you go up the stairs to wee Peter's flat, your daughter's going to be waiting for you there."
"My -- what?" Nathan asked.
"Daughter," the man said. "Forewarned is forearmed; don't let you mum bowl you over with it, that gives her the upper hand. In the meantime, help out a friend in need. I can be a good friend to you, Petrelli. Ask your brother."
"Who are you?" Nathan asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Nobody," the man replied. "I just want you to tell your brother something."
Nathan spread his hands, invitingly.
"Tell him they're both gone, and if he wants to find me he knows where I am," he said. "Tell him to follow his priorities. And if I were you, brother, I'd get that girl of yours out of the country as fast as possible."
Then he disappeared.
"I have had about enough of this shit," Nathan muttered.
***
JESSICA AND MICAH SANDERS AND DL HAWKINS - LAS VEGAS
"Wake up, sleepyhead!"
Micah drifted into consciousness with a giggle, because Mom was tickling him.
"Wake uuuuuup!" she sang, flopping down on the edge of the bed. He sat up and grinned, yawning.
"Morning," Dad called from the other room.
"Hey, I've got a surprise for you," Mom said.
"What's that?" Micah asked, as Dad walked into the room. Both of them were grinning.
"Well, we are going on a vacation," Mom declared, holding up an envelope. Micah opened it and saw three plane tickets to New York. "I got into a special school for casino dealers and we get to spend three weeks in New York!"
"Really?" Micah asked, bouncing excitedly.
"You still gotta do your schoolwork," Dad said from the doorway. "We're going to have your teachers give you all your assignments today before we leave."
"Are we gonna stay in a hotel?" Micah asked.
"Yeeees," Mom answered.
"And eat room service?"
"Maybe once or twice," she replied.
"And go to the Empire State Building?"
"How bout we have breakfast first," Dad said.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
ANDO - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
THE FUTURE
When Hiro vanished, Ando turned to face the firestorm alone. It was coming at an alarming rate and he saw, behind it, the mushroom cloud rising from the center of the city.
That single second seemed to take forever, the fire slowing down even as Ando's thought processes sped up. In a crystal moment he comprehended everything: the road they had followed to reach this point, the inevitability of human destiny, the fact that Ando Masahashi would soon cease to exist -- and the fact that he, Ando, could face death head-on and unflinchingly. He had helped Hiro acquire the sword; that was enough, and he could die honourably.
Then a hand touched his shoulder and, with a jerk, the fire and the cloud and the heat and the impending death all disappeared. Instead, he was standing on a streetcorner, in the middle of the unblemished day.
"Ando-kun."
Ando turned around. Hiro stood behind him, but not his Hiro, that much was clear. Hiro -- older, careworn, with a funny little beard and strange clothing.
"I don't have much time," this not-Hiro said, heedless of the people around them, all of whom were frozen in place.
"You saved me!" Ando exclaimed.
"Yes. Today it is two days before you leave Las Vegas; if you wait here, you will be reunited soon. Tell him what has happened, and not to worry." Not-Hiro gave him a funny sort of smile.
"But what -- "
"Find Hiro; find Peter Petrelli; save the Cheerleader, save the world," he said, and disappeared. The people around Ando began to move again, talk and laugh and hail taxicabs.
Ando looked around him. He was back in the great, confusing, overwhelming mass of humanity that was New York City; he had the clothes on his back, a gun, and about three dollars in his pocket. A week ago he would have waited for Hiro, shouted at him, and tried to beat some sense into that thick skull of his. He might even have tried that a few days ago.
Now, though, he'd looked the maelstrom in the face and survived. He'd prepared for death, and the fact that he had been rescued had not changed that. He was beyond death now; all time between now and when he died was a gift.
Ando grinned. He felt like a samurai.
Even without a sword.
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - NYC
Peter sensed, dimly, that his family as a whole was reaching the breaking point. His mother, tense and concerned about Claire, was sharp and brittle; Claire herself paced and fretted, waiting to meet the father she'd never seen. God only knew what had happened to Nathan in Las Vegas.
Peter didn't even know which way to turn anymore. He knew that Claude had come back for him, but he didn't know why, and as soon as Claude encountered Claire the older man had clammed up and vanished. His mother had explained to him that Claire was his niece, and how that had come about, which did sort of fit in with some memories Peter had of his brother at a younger age.
Sylar had tried to kill him. Mohinder might be dead. Simone was dead. Isaac might be in prison by now.
Peter found himself impatient for Nathan to arrive home. Nathan had made his life difficult in the past few weeks, Nathan had used him for his own political gain and had ignored him when he didn't fit the perfect-Petrelli-family mold, but -- Nathan was his brother. When he was a kid, really little, Nathan used to read him comic books and take him for walks. He wanted his big brother. Even more so than his mother or his tormented father, Nathan had been the comforting constant in his childhood.
Failing Nathan, Claude would do, but apparently Claude was still either pissed at him or in hiding.
When the door opened, Peter leapt to his feet and the Haitian placed himself subtly between the door and Claire, as if he were expecting trained assassins. Peter didn't think he could cope with trained assassins, not after the night he'd had, but it was okay; it was Nathan.
"Hello, sweetheart," their mother said, kissing Nathan on the cheek and hugging him tightly. Nathan winked at Peter over Mom's shoulder, rubbing her back affectionately. Peter would say this about Nathan -- he knew how to put a room at ease.
"Glad to see you, Peter," he said gravely, gripping Peter's shoulder. "You okay?"
Peter nodded. "Good you're back."
"Thanks. Hey, who's your friend?" he asked, indicating the Haitian with a jerk of his head.
"Just a bodyguard," the man answered, and stepped aside.
Claire stood there, fingers twined together, toes turned in, an odd picture of shyness. Peter glanced at Nathan, but didn't see the confusion he expected. Nathan seemed to comprehend what was going on, and right before Mom opened her mouth to stun him further, Nathan spoke.
"And you must be Claire," he said, his voice low and unsteady. She tilted up her chin just slightly when he said her name. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Peter saw the expression on his mother's face and it dawned on him that there was a game being played. Mom wanted Nathan to agree to something, and she wanted him to be so bewildered by his daughter's presence that he would do whatever she told him. Nathan had somehow got one jump ahead of her, and she was recalculating her strategies.
"Claire is the reason I asked you to come directly here," Mom said, but she might as well have been shouting into a black hole. In that moment in time, nobody but Claire even existed for Nathan. And, Peter suspected, everyone but Nathan was background noise to Claire.
"You look like your mother," Nathan said.
"I thought you'd be blond," Claire replied.
"No -- no, I'm not," Nathan said. Peter began to get a trifle impatient. "When did you arrive? In New York, I mean."
"Last night," Claire answered. "I uh. I was looking for Peter, actually."
Nathan glanced at Peter. "You knew about her?"
"Yeah, but -- " Peter gestured at the girl. "I didn't know she was family or anything. She's the one, Nathan. The cheerleader."
"This -- she's the one?"
"The one I saved. Using the painting?" Peter said. He heard an edge in his voice that he didn't like, and tried to tone it down. Especially since Mom was now looking at him approvingly, as if he'd done what she couldn't do in putting Nathan off his stride.
Peter weighed the moment and made a decision. If Mom and Nathan were on different sides, that meant Claire was in the middle. If he was going to pick a faction, he'd pick Claire's.
"If you boys are done bickering, we have important things to discuss," Mom said. "Claire's in danger in New York; we have to decide what's to be done with her. She objects to the very sensible idea of sending her out of the country."
"I don't want to go," Claire said. There was a certain teenage stridence to her tone that sounded awfully familiar to Peter. "I want to stay here."
"Course she wants to stay here," Nathan said, still staring at her. He hadn't moved, as if he were afraid to touch her.
"With Peter," Claire added. Nathan frowned. "I trust him. He can protect me."
"Peter can't even protect himself," their mother declared.
"Thanks, Ma," Peter retorted.
"You'd have been beheaded if it weren't for that horrible Irishman," Mom said.
"He's not Irish, and he saved my life," Peter said hotly. He saw Nathan turn slowly to look at him.
"What Irishman?" Nathan asked distantly.
"He's not Irish!"
Nathan waved this off in irritation. "Scruffy? Beard, and...hair?" he gestured to his forehead, drawing the unmistakeable outline of Claude's messy forelock.
"Yeah," Peter said, curious now. "How do you know him?"
"I bumped into him," Nathan said.
***
NIKI/JESSICA - SOMEWHERE OVER ILLINOIS
Micah, overexcited by his first actual airplane trip ever, promptly fell asleep as soon as they were airborne.
DL was in the window seat, like a gentleman, and was pensively staring out at the clouds, like a dumbass.
Jessica was aware that DL was nervous about this trip, not only because it was sponsored by Linderman but because DL was increasingly suspicious of his wife and what she could do. He'd be keeping a close watch on her, and she couldn't risk any more interruptions by Niki. She was doing this for Niki's own good, after all.
And who said she couldn't enjoy it while she did it, anyway?
Jessica liked looking after Micah so long as it didn't interfere with what she wanted to do, and she liked DL in the same way she might be fond of a dog, as long as the dog didn't poo on the floor or chew on her shoes. Niki enjoyed being the Mommy, so if Niki ever agreed to a logical sharing of the body like she should, Niki could be let out to look after the kid and the husband. All Jessica asked was that Niki not interfere with the part of their mutual life that made everything work.
The paperwork from Linderman had long since been memorised and burned, at least what there was of it. She had a contact to report to in New York, who would supply her with a weapon and additional instructions. Her goal was to make sure that Nathan Petrelli won his election, and her means were to be whatever she saw fit. She wondered who you talked to about ballot-box stuffing. Not that anyone used ballotboxes anymore; it was all done on computer now.
She glanced at Micah, sleeping next to her. The kid was a brat, but he did have skills. She wondered if it was possible to talk him into giving mommy a hand. Probably not.
Well, then she's just have to do it the hard way.
She reflected, as they flew, that Petrelli had been a good fuck. A little desperate, sure, but what did she expect from a guy whose wife was in a wheelchair?
If she played the Niki card, she could probably get him alone again. And she didn't really think there was a man alive who could resist her if she got him alone.
One way or another.
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - NYC
"We still need to decide what's to be done with Claire," Mom insisted, and Nathan rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Do I get a say in this at all?" Claire asked, sulkily.
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous."
"Ma, knock it off for a minute, okay?" Nathan said. Everyone looked at him as if he'd blasphemed. "You said this was a family decision. She's my daughter."
His mother got that drawn-mouthed, tight-lipped look she always got when she was annoyed. "Fine. You sort it out."
"Just...have a seat, jeez," he said, gesturing Claire towards the couch. "Peter, kitchen?"
"Sure," Peter said, looking perplexed. He followed Nathan into the kitchen, watching the way he used to watch when they were kids -- more trustful than he'd been in months, possibly years.
"What's up?" he asked quietly, as they stood at the far end of the hallway. Nathan glanced up at Claire, eyeing them through the door.
"I met your friend this morning. He showed up in my car," Nathan said.
"Claude?"
"Scruffy English guy?"
Peter grinned. "Yeah, that's Claude. What'd he say? Is he pissed?"
"Didn't seem like it. He gave me a message for you."
"Yeah, what -- " Peter stopped when Nathan grabbed his shoulder, fingers flexing gently.
"Peter."
"What?"
"I want you to promise me when I tell you this you won't run off again. Every time you run without thinking you get hurt. This has gotta stop," Nathan said. "Whatever this means, whatever you take from it, we're going to sit here and work it out together, okay?"
Peter set his jaw. "You have to deal with Claire right now."
"You think I can't do both?"
"I think I'll do what needs to be done. If it had been up to you, Claire'd be dead right now."
"You think I don't know that? If it had been up to you, you'd have died last night."
"Are you gonna tell me what Claude said or not?"
Nathan glanced at Claire, then back down at Peter. He owed Peter for his daughter's life, and he owed Claude for his brother's.
"He said to tell you they're both gone, and if you want to find him you know where he is. He says to follow your priorities," he added. Peter drew back, dismayed and thoughtful. "Do you even know what that means?"
Peter turned around to study Claire.
"Yeah," he said. "It means this is where I have to be right now. At least until we've made sure she'll be safe."
"Then what?"
"Claude can help me. He taught me how to control what I already have. I know he knows more." Peter looked thoughtful. "I should try to find Mohinder."
"Suresh? You think he can still help? From the sound of things..."
"Can't hurt, can it?" Peter said. "What're you going to do about Claire?"
"You think we ought to do what Ma wants? Get her out of the country?"
"Save the cheerleader, save the world," Peter recited.
"I thought you already did that."
"She look safe to you?"
"So," Nathan said. "We want her in New York. Where we can protect her."
"Yeah."
"Not in my house. Do you know what Heidi would -- "
"Yeah, I can imagine," Peter said, grinning. "She can stay here."
"I don't know that here's any safer," Nathan said. "Let's just work on keeping her in New York for now. You got my back?"
An odd look crossed Peter's face. "You need me to have your back?"
"Well, yeah," Nathan said. Peter's grin could have lit the room.
"Okay then."
***
JACK BAKER - OJAI, CALIFORNIA
Jack Baker woke up one morning and knew where everything was.
He stepped directly over the toy train at the foot of his bed, left there by one of the sibs, and walked to the bathroom, where he not only picked up the tweezers that had fallen down between sink and bathtub, but swiped his mother's bottle of Vicodin from its hiding place inside the bigger, empty bottle of Mylanta. Coming down the stairs, he took Mom's keys out of her coat pocket and threw them on the counter so she'd see them. Dad passed with a plate of waffles right as he walked into the kitchen, so he snagged two without him even noticing. He reached around the door, grabbed one of the twins, and shoved him into his seat around the family breakfast table.
On his way out the door after eating, he picked up the remote June had shoved in dad's shoe and put it back on the couch, then located his keys in yesterday's jeans and got into the car. Richard, the twins, and Amy piled in after him while he was reaching under the driver's seat to dig out the copy of A Tale Of Two Cities he'd left there last semester.
He made good time dropping off the sibs, only slowing down when he could tell there was a cop in a speed trap ahead. He found the closest possible parking space (he was certain), took it, and walked into school. Molly White had a stash in her locker, so he went to Molly's locker before first period, turned the combination lock till he knew the tumblers were in the right place, and opened it. He took the stash and closed the locker behind him. Even as he shoved it in his pocket he heard the bell ring and saw the principal walking up to the bank of lockers with a pair of cops. Random search. Score for Molly and for Jack.
All day he kept finding shit -- twenty bucks and change in addition to Molly's pot, plus three pencils, a couple of paperclips, and half a pack of cigarettes. Jack didn't question. He had a theory that when you were at one with the world, things worked out for you, and clearly he had finally reached the zone. Sure, it had taken him till his Senior year, but hey, he was at least one up on some part of the population.
That afternoon he did the rounds, picking up his siblings and reminding Amy that she left her thermos in the classroom. While she ran back to get it, he found thirty cents and a baseball in the bushes nearby. At dinner, he carefully picked every single bone out of his fish, which was awesome because he hated fish bones.
"You've been awfully quiet today," Mom said at dinner.
"Oh, just, you know. Feelin' it," Jack said.
"Right on," Dad answered. Dad had been at Woodstock, and never let Jack forget it, even if he'd been like, eight at the time. "In the zone?"
"And rocking it out," Jack replied. His dad pumped his fist in the air, and the twins imitated him.
"All right, homework time," Mom said, and Jack shooed the little ones upstairs.
"Hey, listen, I got a book report," he told his father, who nodded sagely. "The noise in here's kinda harsh, you know? Imma run out and get some work done in the storage shed."
Whether his parents really were that dumb, or whether they were just relieved that Jack's grades were holding A+ steady, Jack didn't know. He did know his parents had given him run of the storage shed out back, his privilege as the oldest child, and nobody was to bug Jack or his pals when they were studying in the shed.
Jack grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and his backpack and retreated to the shed. He sat down, set up his notebook and schoolbooks just in case, and tossed back one of Mom's pills before filling the pipe (dude, he'd been looking for that pipe for weeks) that had rolled under the nonfunctional weed-whacker.
Jack was no idiot, and he'd done a lot of research during Chem class last year. He knew that marijuana wasn't a hallucinogen. His last conscious thought as he swirled down into the hallucination was that this couldn't possibly be happening.
His first conscious thought on waking was that, of all the stupid shit to see on your first trip out of reality, he saw a fucking Nissan Versa in a Las Vegas airport parking lot.
His second thought was that his spirit walk had come, and Dad was going to be really pissed that he didn't graduate high school first.
Next time, on Heroes ("But Can You Fix It?"):
Funny world. Mohinder had followed so closely in his father's footsteps, almost as if Sylar were guiding both of them. And when a child rebelled against a guiding hand, sometimes they needed punishment.
"I know what you're going to say, there's the campaign, but really, Ma. My family is what's most important to me right now. And we'll, you know. We'll break it to Heidi somehow."
Mr. Isaac turned around then, fetching up a canvas knife from a nearby tray as he did so. Hiro saw the knife first and leaned back in time to avoid having his throat slit; Ando was already backing towards the stairs.
"This coma he's in...could last a few days, a week, could be the rest of his life. We simply don't have enough information yet."
"Like us. Me and Peter. And my mom. Are you special? Different?"
"Ah...I'm all out of...justice...league...fortresses at the moment," Nathan said. "But I think I can help you out."
Dear Parents, I'm going on walkabout. Don't worry, I have money and I packed a sandwich. Love, Jack.
And Matt, finally, has luck turn his way:
The sound of Bennett's lips parting, a crackling, dry kind of noise, was the sweetest sound Matt ever heard.
Chapter Three