sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:35 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:35 am
Entry tags:
The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Five
Title: The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Five: Escape Velocity
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Peter takes care of Claire, Jessica takes care of business, Mama Petrelli took care of history, Claude takes care of himself, Bennett is forced to take care of Matt, and Jack hasn't got a care in the world.
Notes: Thanks to my betas, Simon and Heidi, as ever. Also thanks and credit to Utility Knife for Isaac's sketchbook drawing; if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 3.19.07
CLAIRE BENNETT AND PETER PETRELLI - NYC
Morning dawned bright and clear and sharp-edged on New York City, and Claire was there to see it.
She sat at the window in the little bedroom, looking out. She couldn't see a whole lot, not from the fifth floor, but she could see enough. People wandering out of their apartments and down to the street, buying coffee and doughnuts from the cafe, walking their dogs. It was like Odessa, really -- it was just squeezed up a little. Lots more Odessa, squashed into the same amount of space.
That was what she tried to tell herself, anyway.
"Country mouse comes to visit her big city cousins," she said to herself, amused. Well, not cousins. Better -- two brothers. Real brothers. Not...not like that, of course Lyle was her real brother, but he wasn't her blood and ever since Dad told her she was adopted, Lyle had been all weird about it. Never where Mom and Dad could see, but his freakout last month over what she was, that was just part of it.
She had brothers. Two baby brothers. She had no clue when she'd get to meet them, but they were there. And a stepmom, too. A stepmom who probably wasn't going to be happy to learn she existed.
And her uncle.
She heard a cellphone ringtone -- Fall Out Boy, he was just like Zach -- and Peter's sleepy voice answering it.
"You what?...I am calm!"
Peter opened the door of the bedroom across the hall from hers, appearing in the early morning half-light. His hair stuck up in tufts, and he was only wearing pyjama pants.
Uncle Peter must work out.
This was so not fair.
"Okay. Sure. Okay." Peter rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. He winked at Claire. She smiled back. "Right. No, lemme get a pen...a pen. Just -- hang on."
He ambled into the kitchen and she could hear him talking while he wrote something down. She went to the doorway, wondering if Peter was a coffee-and-doughnuts sort, or a waffles kind of guy.
"Sure. No, you did great. Tell Hiro. Get some sleep. Good idea."
Peter hung up the phone and bit the end of the pen, considering what he'd just written down.
"Anyone I know?" Claire asked, trying to be funny. He grinned.
"You will, pretty soon. They were keeping an eye on Mohinder for me. Sylar tried to get to him last night."
Claire stared in horror.
"They sent him packing. Turns out Hiro's got a few tricks up his sleeve. Mohinder's safe, the hospital'll call if he wakes up." Peter rubbed a hand across his face. "You want the shower first?"
"No, you go ahead," Claire said.
"Sure. Hey, you know, I was thinking," Peter added, hesitating in the bathroom doorway. "You're still in high school. We gotta get you some books or something. I'll ask Ma, she'll know what to do."
"Kinda nice, having a break," she said.
"Yeah, I hated school. So -- I'm gonna get a shower, fix yourself some breakfast if you want," Peter said. He disappeared into the bathroom, and after a minute she heard the pipes clatter as the shower was turned on.
She pursed her lips.
Surely this place had a waffle iron somewhere.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
JESSICA SANDERS - NYC
When she walked into the dockyard, all the men stopped working.
Jessica smiled as she passed, winking at the ones who wolf-whistled her. DL and Micah were going to the Statue of Liberty today, and she was having her own maritime adventures. She passed the trucks, the stacked boxes, the heavy-lifting cranes, the heavy-lifting men...
The loading door to one of the nearby warehouses was open, and a handful of burly men were eating breakfast, examining lading bills and shipping documents. Two of them reached for their guns when they saw her.
"Easy, boys," she said, giving them a sunny, seductive smile. "I'm here to see your daddy."
A slim, elderly man stood and beckoned her closer. She leaned against the table, edging one of the bodyguards out of the way.
"You from Linderman?" the man asked.
"You can call me Jessica," she answered. He put a pistol in her hands, as well as an envelope of cash.
"Tell Linderman we're square," he said.
"Mmm...no, I don't think you are just yet," she answered. He narrowed his eyes. "How many unions do you have under your thumb?"
"What's that matter to Linderman?"
"Who's the Union candidate in the race?"
"Davidson," one of the others grunted. "Union man from way back."
"Not anymore," Jessica said with a smile. "Now your union man is Nathan Petrelli."
"That little pissant?" the elderly man asked.
"Do you, or do you not, want to be square with Linderman?" Jessica inquired. She fondled the barrel of the gun.
"Gentlemen, I'd like a word in private with Mr. Linderman's representative," the boss said. The others faded into the background. "I can't tell the unions to vote Petrelli."
"Why not?"
"Because our union guy's always been Davidson. He's been good to us."
"I can make sure Petrelli's good to you too," she said. "Very good."
She put the pistol into the purse she was carrying. The boss studied her.
"Listen, you keep an eye on Nathan Petrelli for the next few days," she said. "You watch for him to make a speech about union rights and values. When he does, I want you to tell your people that you think Nathan Petrelli is just what this city needs. I know you can make this happen for me."
"But then we're square."
"Mr. Linderman says when you're square," she replied, wondering just what Linderman had on this guy to make him so desperate.
"I'll be waiting on that speech," he said reluctantly.
"You do that, honey," she answered, and went to make a few more calls.
***
THE HAITIAN - NOGALES, ARIZONA
The Haitian didn't like Odessa. He never really had, but he traveled a lot with Bennett, so he put up with it.
He hated Nogales even more. Still, he'd hated a lot of things in life and Nogales wasn't so bad. It was better than his last trip to New York when he'd had to intentionally botch the job of bringing in Peter and the professor. He hated seeming incompetent most of all.
He'd found the bar where the border guards drank and managed to blend in, hanging around in a back booth. Sifting through memories was much harder than removing them, but he was managing. It had been a long shot, looking for the face of one woman he didn't know in the hundreds that had come across the border in the last few days, but he'd found a few likely candidates. If any of the blonde women were telling the truth, then his first stop on the other side of the border should be La Paz.
Packed and ready to go, he stopped outside the motel's small, shabby office and made a phone call.
"Petrelli residence," came the maid's answer.
"Mrs. Angela Petrelli," he replied. There was a pause, and then her voice on the line.
"This is Mrs. Petrelli."
"I am in Nogales," he said. "I may have found her."
"That's wonderful," Mrs. Petrelli said, her voice falsely cheerful. Someone must be listening. "How are you, my dear?"
"I have enough money," he replied. "I will go first to La Paz, then to Huatuleco. When I find her, I will contact you."
"I hear it's lovely this time of year," she said. "But darling, don't drink the water."
"I won't act without orders," he confirmed. "Do not expect to hear from me again for a few days."
"Lovely. Well, I'll look forward to your call. Ta-ta, now," she said, and the line went dead.
The Haitian picked up his bag and shouldered it, checking one last time for his bus ticket to Hermosillo.
When his Company recruiter had promised him a lifetime of adventure and travel in exchange for his services, somehow this wasn't what he had pictured.
***
ANGELA AND NATHAN PETRELLI - NYC
The Haitian didn't see, of course, who was with Angela Petrelli when she took the phone call. He didn't see her carefully keep her face blank as she hung up, or turn back to the person she'd been speaking to when the telephone interrupted.
"Who was that?" Nathan asked, sitting at the other end of the table.
"Just a friend," she replied. "Now, what was so important you interrupted your morning to speak to me about it?"
"I think it's time, Ma," Nathan said, leaning his elbows on the table. "I think you need to tell me about Dad's suicide."
***
PETER PETRELLI AND CLAUDE RAINS - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
Claire made waffles. Peter could get used to that.
He'd planned to pick up some stuff for Claire, then swing by his mother's house and ask what she thought they should do about the whole high school situation. He knew what Ma would probably say, that they should get Claire a private tutor like she'd tried to do for him when he failed Social Studies. Peter wasn't all that happy about the idea, but Claire was family, and he wanted to do right by her considering how screwed her life had been lately. Besides, looking back, a few more passing grades would have been pretty nice.
He examined a couple of different hairbrushes -- Jesus, how many different types of hairbrush were there? -- and then tossed some barrettes and hair-bands into the basket too. Girls needed that kind of thing.
He tried to focus on just how humiliating buying all this was going to be, because it helped him not to think about Simone. Simone probably would have liked Claire. Actually, Simone probably would have said they were all nuts, but she would have been nice to Claire anyway.
He tossed a few magazines into the basket. He couldn't wait to see the cashier's face when she swiped Jane Magazine across the barcode reader.
Snacks. He should get snacks. And if she was going to be stuck in that dingy little apartment, maybe some videos. Did it have a DVD player? Well, he couldn't buy that, but he could get some DVDs. He wondered what she'd like.
The cashier did smirk when she rang up his order, and the guy bagging the stuff made a little whipping motion with his hand, apparently assuming that Peter was buying this stuff for a girlfriend. Peter left the store as fast as possible and made for the subway, shoving the magazines deeper into the bag when they poked through the top.
He hesitated at the entrance, though, realising he wasn't far from the street where he'd run into Claude that first time.
If you want to find me, you know where I am.
He realised that he'd disappeared without meaning to; someone nearly knocked him down the subway-entrance stairs. Goddamn Claude.
He swung around the railing and walked on, scanning the crowd for Claude's long blue jacket. People bumped into him occasionally, but he held tight to his shopping bag and tried to dodge them.
He did two circuits of the street, but Claude wasn't anywhere to be -- hah -- seen. He was about to give up, since he should go see Ma and he really did need to find out what was on the flash drive that was an oddly heavy weight in his pocket, but someone stretched out a hand and grabbed his elbow.
He jerked around, reappearing, and found himself face to face with a tall man in a long duster jacket and a large, floppy black hat. The brim of the hat tilted up just enough for Peter to catch a glimpse of Claude's hawk-nose and sharp eyes.
"Wondered when you'd come puppying round here. Done overlookin' the obvious yet?" Claude asked casually. He had a hot dog in one hand.
"You're visible," Peter said. "What's up with that hat?"
"They're lookin' for an invisible man, they don't look twice at the ones they can see." Claude frowned. "What's wrong wi' my hat?"
"It's just kind of conspicuous."
"You din't notice it," Claude said, around a mouthful of hot dog. "Been watchin' you for the last twenty minutes."
"Why did you want to see me again?" Peter asked. "You told my brother to tell me how to find you."
"You're not done with your schoolin' yet, are you?"
"Why'd you come back for me?"
Claude licked mustard off his thumb and heaved a disappointed sigh. "You're hopeless, is what you are. I can go my merry way if you'd like to blow up New York -- "
Peter grabbed him, physically stopping him from moving. Claude popped the last of the hot dog in his mouth, waiting for whatever Peter had to say. Which Peter wasn't sure about himself.
"You teleported," he said finally. "I saw you do it. And you resisted Sylar."
"Sylar's a terrible name. Sounds like a new brand of synthetic stocking."
"Don't change the subject."
"What's your point, then?" Claude asked.
"You're not just the invisible man," Peter said, frustrated.
Claude shrugged. "I never said I was just the invisible man."
"You're like me. Aren't you?" Peter asked. "You can do what I can do. You're an Empath."
"Keep your bloody voice down."
"Are there others?"
"I think we'd be safe in saying that Sylar bastard's probably one, in his own twisted way," Claude replied.
"Why didn't you tell me you were like me?" Peter asked. He heard a note of desperation creep into his voice, and he bit down hard on it.
"Wasn't really necessary," Claude answered. "Would it have helped your bleedin' heart to know it?"
"Might have, if I thought you understood what was going on with me," Peter answered.
"I didn't have to understand. You learned just fine not knowing. Now, d'you want to learn more, or d'you want to go on playing j'accuse?"
Peter reached into his pocket and took out the flash drive, holding it under Claude's nose.
"Don't you even care what happened to Mohinder? Don't you care why Sylar was after me?" he asked. Claude studied the little drive.
"What's that, a lighter?" he asked.
"It's a list. A list of people like us. Dozens, maybe hundreds. It's why Sylar was there. Mohinder's in a coma because he wouldn't give this to him."
"And you're carryin' it round New York for any pickpocket to lift."
Peter often had the urge to punch Claude in the face, though he knew he'd probably come out worse if he started anything. He growled.
"You might not have any responsibilities, but I do. I've got to look after Claire and find out what's on this list and somehow stop New York from blowing up -- "
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't have responsibilities," Claude answered, just as sharply.
"Then stop playing around with hats and hot dogs and help me!" Peter said. "Give me a straight answer once in a while!"
Claude gave him the coolest, most measuring look he'd ever experienced.
"There's a condemned factory off West 59th, near the docks," he said. "Bright yellow loading doors. Kemp's Baked Goods. Tonight. Go early; I'll be there by nine."
Peter let him go this time, watching as he disappeared (well, not literally) into the crowd. It didn't strike him until he was almost all the way to his mother's house that Claude had actually admitted he was still in town because of Peter.
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - ODESSA, TEXAS
When hell broke loose, Matt nearly went blind.
There were simply so many people, thinking so many things, their thoughts all amplified by adrenaline and panic. He was forced to let Bennett lead him, clutching his head the whole time as they ran through the eerily empty halls.
Primatech Paper had some very interesting contingency plans for emergencies. Bennett knew them all, and apparently his boss had forgotten just how much Bennett knew. If his boss had even been aware of these things in the first place.
Out in the fresh air, after miles of subterranean pipe-tunnels, Matt heaved breath after breath of fresh air, trying not to hear Bennett, trying not to hear anyone. He didn't know where they were and didn't care; after the last few minutes, he'd happily go back and spend the rest of his life in the cell if it meant never hearing another voice in his head.
"It's been two hours," Bennett said, and Matt realised he must have said it aloud. Either that or Bennett was still hearing him.
"I think I'm gonna puke," Matt replied.
"Well, do it and get it over with then," Bennett suggested. Matt breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. When the world was steady again, he took a look around.
They were in the middle of nowhere, near a drainage tunnel that ran out under a two-lane road.
"How many others do you think got free?" he asked.
"Maybe a few. Don't tell me you're upset about that."
"I don't want dangerous people on the loose any more than you do."
"But you don't want Primatech holding them, either," Bennett said.
"Can we argue ethics later?" Matt asked. "Where the hell are we?"
"Seventeen eighty-eight," Bennett said.
"What?"
"FTM seventeen eighty-eight." Bennett frowned. "Farm to market road seventeen eighty-eight. Connects to interestate twenty near the airport."
"Farm to market," Matt said. "Jesus, get me out of Texas."
"That's the idea," Bennett said.
"I'm going the hell back to Los Angeles."
Bennett just looked at him.
"What?"
"You're not going back to LA. Not unless you want to end up back at Primatech in a matter of hours," Bennett said.
"My wife -- "
"Is safer without you there," Bennett said. "Believe me. I know."
Matt fell silent.
"My wife and son are dead," Bennett continued. "The people I work for want to kill me. My daughter is all I have left. I need to find her."
"Where will you go?"
"New York. There's a man there who can find her," Bennett said. "You can come with me as far as the city, if you want."
"Why would you do that?" Matt asked. "You'd get there faster alone."
"You didn't have to get me out," Bennett replied. "Come on. There's a gas station nearby, we can steal a car."
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS -- NYC
"Nathan!" Peter caught sight of his brother as he was entering and Nathan was leaving, heading out a side hallway to his car. "Hey, Nathan! Wait up!"
Nathan stopped and turned, frowning. "Why aren't you with Claire?"
"Went and bought her some stuff," Peter said, holding up the bag in one hand. "I just wanted to say hi to Ma, then I'm gonna go drop this off and run some errands."
"Listen, I don't think Ma's really in a good mood right now," Nathan said, drawing Peter down the hallway and out of view of the main foyer. "Can it wait?"
"Sure, I guess..."
"I'll give you a lift back to the safe-house, I'm going there now."
"O...kay..." Peter said, following his brother out to the sleek sedan that was waiting for them. The driver held the door for them as they climbed in, Peter passing the bag to Nathan so that he could buckle his seatbelt.
"Light reading?" Nathan asked, holding up one of the magazines.
"It's for Claire. I got her some stuff."
"Sure it is." Nathan dug deeper. "Peter, there's half a dozen hairbrushes in here."
"I didn't know what kind she wanted."
Nathan silently held up a box of tampons. Peter blushed.
"Girls need girl stuff," he mumbled. Nathan put them back in the bag and set it on the floor of the car.
"Hey -- Ma said she told you about dad," he said quietly.
"What about him?"
"Dad killing himself."
"Oh," Peter said. "Yeah. Did you know?"
"Not until a few days ago. I got curious. I started looking at things."
"Like what?"
Nathan chewed his lip thoughtfully. "My...daughter," he said, fumbling the words a little, "is like us. You're like me. Claire's mother is too. Suresh said whatever this is, it's in our genes, which means it's probably passed down from parent to child."
Peter stared at him. "You think Dad -- "
"Dad was diagnosed with a mental illness when he was twenty-three. That's not that much younger than you are."
"You think Dad could -- what, read minds? Leap tall buildings in a single bound?"
"I don't know. Neither does Ma. She says when he was diagnosed he thought he had special powers, but that was years ago and his medical records don't exist anymore. Ma made sure of that."
"Because of your campaign," Peter said.
"Yes, Peter, because it doesn't hurt him and because I need all the help I can get, even now."
"Doesn't exactly help us though, does it?" Peter asked. Nathan rubbed his eyes.
"I don't think Dad killed himself because he was insane. Maybe he didn't kill himself at all."
"What did Ma say?"
"She's...worried about us. And about Claire. She's not exactly happy with me right now either." Nathan sighed.
Peter sat quietly for a while, contemplating the idea that his father might have been like he was, like Nathan was. That would make Claire the third generation.
"I want Hiro and Ando back, by the way," Nathan said, into the silence. "I'm going to send them down to register voters in the Japanese neighborhoods."
"Not everything is about your campaign, Nathan."
Nathan shrugged, but he wouldn't meet Peter's eyes. "It is to me."
***
JACK BAKER - SOUTHERN NEBRASKA
"FREEDOM'S JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
NOTHING AIN'T WORTH NOTHING BUT IT'S FREE!"
Jack had the windows down and the radio blasting, and life seemed good. The Versa had satellite, which totally saved Jack's sanity driving through the midwest. He should have made a mix CD before he left but, with like a million channels to choose from, why bother?
It was pretty swank. Maybe the Japanese dudes were high rollers and there'd be some kind of reward. He knew walkabout wasn't about money, but seriously! A reward!
"FEELIN GOOD WAS EASY LORD WHEN BOBBY SANG THE BLUES
FEELIN GOOD WAS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME
GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME AND MY BOBBY MCGEE!"
He scanned up the channels till he found a rock station with a song just ending. The next song came on and he shouted "YEAH!" and turned it up another few notches on the volume meter. Jack picked up his speed, knowing that the next speed trap wasn't for miles, and sang his heart out.
I have run, I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
Only to be with you
Only to beeeee with you
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...
Jack felt a light shock run up his arms, and the car nearly swerved off the road. He braked slowly and pulled it over, wondering if he'd fallen asleep at the wheel. He didn't feel tired. He hadn't smoked up since he got behind the wheel, because he wasn't a jackass, but he was sorely tempted. His heart was going a mile a minute and the radio was still on.
I have spoke with the tongues of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
Jack wondered, with a small portion of his brain, if he could help Bono out. The rest of his mind was focused on the little static shocks sparking off his skin, and the slideshow playing behind his eyes. Angels and devils and city walls, oh my...
He saw the Japanese men for the first time -- one round-faced and grinning, the other much more dangerous about the eyes. They were waiting for him and didn't even know it. He saw the angel and the devil, too, and the one who was going to carry the cross, and he saw the one he was looking for. Not the Japanese dudes or the dark-haired boy who was looking for his teacher or the little kid or the tormented man pursuing them all.
Jack closed his eyes and found her. It wasn't even very hard. It was kinda like GoogleEarth, in fact. From where he was he lifted up into the air and fell back to earth in New York City. There she was, sitting with the angel. A yellow-haired girl well out of place but utterly unbreakable -- and her life was only just beginning.
The girl. The blond girl.
Jack Baker fell in love.
***
TED SPRAGUE AND HANA GITELMAN - ODESSA, TEXAS
Ted didn't know where he was. He didn't know how he'd gotten there, and he was not entirely certain what his own name was.
A stinging slap against his face brought the world sharply into focus, and he looked up angrily into a pair of dark, intent eyes.
"You must wake up, Ted," a voice said, and Ted recognised it -- Hana.
"If you can walk, you can be free again," she continued. "So you must walk."
Ted tried to sit up, then to stand; he was okay until he got onto his feet, and then he staggered against her. She was surprisingly wiry, and caught him under one arm effortlessly.
"Where?" he asked, confused.
"Up and out," she replied with a reassuring smile.
And Ted began to walk.
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS AND CLAIRE - NYC
Peter was gone longer than Claire thought he would be, and she was almost pacing the floor by the time he returned. He and her father -- Nathan -- her father -- showed up together, and Peter went to the kitchen, abandoning her with his brother.
"Sleep all right?" Nathan asked, setting his briefcase on the table and sitting down. He gestured her easily into the other chair, eyes never leaving her face. She sat awkwardly, wondering what to say.
"Yeah, I guess," she replied.
"Good. Got enough food?"
"Yeah," she said, looking down at her hands. "I think Peter bought some stuff, too."
"Glad he's looking after you," Nathan said, looking as if he wasn't exactly glad at all.
"What do I call you?" Claire blurted. He frowned. "I mean, should I say Nathan, or Dad, or what?"
She expected he would probably tell her to say whatever she was most comfortable with, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed to honestly consider it.
"My children call me Dad," he said, finally. "You're my child. I ran off once; I'm not doing that again."
"Okay. Dad," she added. It sounded odd in her mouth, the wrong sort of shape, but it made him smile, which was nice.
"Good. I don't plan on having you stuck here forever, just -- " he hesitated, and Claire saw regret in his eyes. "I have an election."
Claire tried to smile. "Don't want to ruin the election."
"I hoped you'd understand." Nathan touched her hand. "There's a lot I want to ask you. Probably a lot you want to ask me, too."
"Yeah, I just..." Claire ran a hand through her hair. "I can't think of any, is the problem."
Nathan nodded, and the awkward silence lengthened. In the kitchen, Peter crinkled cellophane, putting something away.
"So you're a cheerleader," Nathan said, suddenly.
"Was," Claire replied. "It didn't take."
"Sorry. Are you, uh, a good student?"
"I guess so. B average."
"Only B?" Nathan -- her father -- asked.
"I didn't do so well in Bio," Claire shrugged.
"Me neither. And between the two of us, Peter flunked Social Studies," her father grinned. Claire grinned back, glancing at the kitchen door. Her father checked his watch.
"Listen -- you think of what you want to ask me, okay? I've got to get to the office. I don't know when I can come again, probably tomorrow. I'll call tonight if you want."
"I'd like that," Claire said.
"Okay then."
"Can I ask you one thing?" she said, as he stood to leave. He paused, looking down at her.
"Of course."
"You said you can fly."
"Yeah, I try not to talk about that too much."
"When did you do it? How old were you?"
He looked down at her thoughtfully.
"Older than you," he said quietly. "I'll come back. Be good."
He bent over her and before she could flinch back in surprise, he'd kissed her forehead, his cologne filling her nostrils.
Then he was gone.
Next time, on Heroes ("Family Photos"):
"I have a contingency plan." "Guys like you always do."
This was Mohinder's family. The woman was probably a girlfriend. God, his mother probably didn't know he was in the hospital. And that he might not wake up.
"I have a hotel room," she said, and hoped on the other end of the line, that pretty olive skin was blushing.
"Oh no -- I mean, it's nothing, I just didn't realise you were gay," Claire said.
"Eat up," Bennett barked. "Let's pay and get out of here. Then we need to find a drugstore."
Jack stood up too, toe to toe with the guy, and looked him in the eye. Then he ran.
"That reminds me, I could murder a kebab. School's out for the night. You're paying, shirtless wonder."
Chapter Six
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Peter takes care of Claire, Jessica takes care of business, Mama Petrelli took care of history, Claude takes care of himself, Bennett is forced to take care of Matt, and Jack hasn't got a care in the world.
Notes: Thanks to my betas, Simon and Heidi, as ever. Also thanks and credit to Utility Knife for Isaac's sketchbook drawing; if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 3.19.07
CLAIRE BENNETT AND PETER PETRELLI - NYC
Morning dawned bright and clear and sharp-edged on New York City, and Claire was there to see it.
She sat at the window in the little bedroom, looking out. She couldn't see a whole lot, not from the fifth floor, but she could see enough. People wandering out of their apartments and down to the street, buying coffee and doughnuts from the cafe, walking their dogs. It was like Odessa, really -- it was just squeezed up a little. Lots more Odessa, squashed into the same amount of space.
That was what she tried to tell herself, anyway.
"Country mouse comes to visit her big city cousins," she said to herself, amused. Well, not cousins. Better -- two brothers. Real brothers. Not...not like that, of course Lyle was her real brother, but he wasn't her blood and ever since Dad told her she was adopted, Lyle had been all weird about it. Never where Mom and Dad could see, but his freakout last month over what she was, that was just part of it.
She had brothers. Two baby brothers. She had no clue when she'd get to meet them, but they were there. And a stepmom, too. A stepmom who probably wasn't going to be happy to learn she existed.
And her uncle.
She heard a cellphone ringtone -- Fall Out Boy, he was just like Zach -- and Peter's sleepy voice answering it.
"You what?...I am calm!"
Peter opened the door of the bedroom across the hall from hers, appearing in the early morning half-light. His hair stuck up in tufts, and he was only wearing pyjama pants.
Uncle Peter must work out.
This was so not fair.
"Okay. Sure. Okay." Peter rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. He winked at Claire. She smiled back. "Right. No, lemme get a pen...a pen. Just -- hang on."
He ambled into the kitchen and she could hear him talking while he wrote something down. She went to the doorway, wondering if Peter was a coffee-and-doughnuts sort, or a waffles kind of guy.
"Sure. No, you did great. Tell Hiro. Get some sleep. Good idea."
Peter hung up the phone and bit the end of the pen, considering what he'd just written down.
"Anyone I know?" Claire asked, trying to be funny. He grinned.
"You will, pretty soon. They were keeping an eye on Mohinder for me. Sylar tried to get to him last night."
Claire stared in horror.
"They sent him packing. Turns out Hiro's got a few tricks up his sleeve. Mohinder's safe, the hospital'll call if he wakes up." Peter rubbed a hand across his face. "You want the shower first?"
"No, you go ahead," Claire said.
"Sure. Hey, you know, I was thinking," Peter added, hesitating in the bathroom doorway. "You're still in high school. We gotta get you some books or something. I'll ask Ma, she'll know what to do."
"Kinda nice, having a break," she said.
"Yeah, I hated school. So -- I'm gonna get a shower, fix yourself some breakfast if you want," Peter said. He disappeared into the bathroom, and after a minute she heard the pipes clatter as the shower was turned on.
She pursed her lips.
Surely this place had a waffle iron somewhere.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
JESSICA SANDERS - NYC
When she walked into the dockyard, all the men stopped working.
Jessica smiled as she passed, winking at the ones who wolf-whistled her. DL and Micah were going to the Statue of Liberty today, and she was having her own maritime adventures. She passed the trucks, the stacked boxes, the heavy-lifting cranes, the heavy-lifting men...
The loading door to one of the nearby warehouses was open, and a handful of burly men were eating breakfast, examining lading bills and shipping documents. Two of them reached for their guns when they saw her.
"Easy, boys," she said, giving them a sunny, seductive smile. "I'm here to see your daddy."
A slim, elderly man stood and beckoned her closer. She leaned against the table, edging one of the bodyguards out of the way.
"You from Linderman?" the man asked.
"You can call me Jessica," she answered. He put a pistol in her hands, as well as an envelope of cash.
"Tell Linderman we're square," he said.
"Mmm...no, I don't think you are just yet," she answered. He narrowed his eyes. "How many unions do you have under your thumb?"
"What's that matter to Linderman?"
"Who's the Union candidate in the race?"
"Davidson," one of the others grunted. "Union man from way back."
"Not anymore," Jessica said with a smile. "Now your union man is Nathan Petrelli."
"That little pissant?" the elderly man asked.
"Do you, or do you not, want to be square with Linderman?" Jessica inquired. She fondled the barrel of the gun.
"Gentlemen, I'd like a word in private with Mr. Linderman's representative," the boss said. The others faded into the background. "I can't tell the unions to vote Petrelli."
"Why not?"
"Because our union guy's always been Davidson. He's been good to us."
"I can make sure Petrelli's good to you too," she said. "Very good."
She put the pistol into the purse she was carrying. The boss studied her.
"Listen, you keep an eye on Nathan Petrelli for the next few days," she said. "You watch for him to make a speech about union rights and values. When he does, I want you to tell your people that you think Nathan Petrelli is just what this city needs. I know you can make this happen for me."
"But then we're square."
"Mr. Linderman says when you're square," she replied, wondering just what Linderman had on this guy to make him so desperate.
"I'll be waiting on that speech," he said reluctantly.
"You do that, honey," she answered, and went to make a few more calls.
***
THE HAITIAN - NOGALES, ARIZONA
The Haitian didn't like Odessa. He never really had, but he traveled a lot with Bennett, so he put up with it.
He hated Nogales even more. Still, he'd hated a lot of things in life and Nogales wasn't so bad. It was better than his last trip to New York when he'd had to intentionally botch the job of bringing in Peter and the professor. He hated seeming incompetent most of all.
He'd found the bar where the border guards drank and managed to blend in, hanging around in a back booth. Sifting through memories was much harder than removing them, but he was managing. It had been a long shot, looking for the face of one woman he didn't know in the hundreds that had come across the border in the last few days, but he'd found a few likely candidates. If any of the blonde women were telling the truth, then his first stop on the other side of the border should be La Paz.
Packed and ready to go, he stopped outside the motel's small, shabby office and made a phone call.
"Petrelli residence," came the maid's answer.
"Mrs. Angela Petrelli," he replied. There was a pause, and then her voice on the line.
"This is Mrs. Petrelli."
"I am in Nogales," he said. "I may have found her."
"That's wonderful," Mrs. Petrelli said, her voice falsely cheerful. Someone must be listening. "How are you, my dear?"
"I have enough money," he replied. "I will go first to La Paz, then to Huatuleco. When I find her, I will contact you."
"I hear it's lovely this time of year," she said. "But darling, don't drink the water."
"I won't act without orders," he confirmed. "Do not expect to hear from me again for a few days."
"Lovely. Well, I'll look forward to your call. Ta-ta, now," she said, and the line went dead.
The Haitian picked up his bag and shouldered it, checking one last time for his bus ticket to Hermosillo.
When his Company recruiter had promised him a lifetime of adventure and travel in exchange for his services, somehow this wasn't what he had pictured.
***
ANGELA AND NATHAN PETRELLI - NYC
The Haitian didn't see, of course, who was with Angela Petrelli when she took the phone call. He didn't see her carefully keep her face blank as she hung up, or turn back to the person she'd been speaking to when the telephone interrupted.
"Who was that?" Nathan asked, sitting at the other end of the table.
"Just a friend," she replied. "Now, what was so important you interrupted your morning to speak to me about it?"
"I think it's time, Ma," Nathan said, leaning his elbows on the table. "I think you need to tell me about Dad's suicide."
***
PETER PETRELLI AND CLAUDE RAINS - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
Claire made waffles. Peter could get used to that.
He'd planned to pick up some stuff for Claire, then swing by his mother's house and ask what she thought they should do about the whole high school situation. He knew what Ma would probably say, that they should get Claire a private tutor like she'd tried to do for him when he failed Social Studies. Peter wasn't all that happy about the idea, but Claire was family, and he wanted to do right by her considering how screwed her life had been lately. Besides, looking back, a few more passing grades would have been pretty nice.
He examined a couple of different hairbrushes -- Jesus, how many different types of hairbrush were there? -- and then tossed some barrettes and hair-bands into the basket too. Girls needed that kind of thing.
He tried to focus on just how humiliating buying all this was going to be, because it helped him not to think about Simone. Simone probably would have liked Claire. Actually, Simone probably would have said they were all nuts, but she would have been nice to Claire anyway.
He tossed a few magazines into the basket. He couldn't wait to see the cashier's face when she swiped Jane Magazine across the barcode reader.
Snacks. He should get snacks. And if she was going to be stuck in that dingy little apartment, maybe some videos. Did it have a DVD player? Well, he couldn't buy that, but he could get some DVDs. He wondered what she'd like.
The cashier did smirk when she rang up his order, and the guy bagging the stuff made a little whipping motion with his hand, apparently assuming that Peter was buying this stuff for a girlfriend. Peter left the store as fast as possible and made for the subway, shoving the magazines deeper into the bag when they poked through the top.
He hesitated at the entrance, though, realising he wasn't far from the street where he'd run into Claude that first time.
If you want to find me, you know where I am.
He realised that he'd disappeared without meaning to; someone nearly knocked him down the subway-entrance stairs. Goddamn Claude.
He swung around the railing and walked on, scanning the crowd for Claude's long blue jacket. People bumped into him occasionally, but he held tight to his shopping bag and tried to dodge them.
He did two circuits of the street, but Claude wasn't anywhere to be -- hah -- seen. He was about to give up, since he should go see Ma and he really did need to find out what was on the flash drive that was an oddly heavy weight in his pocket, but someone stretched out a hand and grabbed his elbow.
He jerked around, reappearing, and found himself face to face with a tall man in a long duster jacket and a large, floppy black hat. The brim of the hat tilted up just enough for Peter to catch a glimpse of Claude's hawk-nose and sharp eyes.
"Wondered when you'd come puppying round here. Done overlookin' the obvious yet?" Claude asked casually. He had a hot dog in one hand.
"You're visible," Peter said. "What's up with that hat?"
"They're lookin' for an invisible man, they don't look twice at the ones they can see." Claude frowned. "What's wrong wi' my hat?"
"It's just kind of conspicuous."
"You din't notice it," Claude said, around a mouthful of hot dog. "Been watchin' you for the last twenty minutes."
"Why did you want to see me again?" Peter asked. "You told my brother to tell me how to find you."
"You're not done with your schoolin' yet, are you?"
"Why'd you come back for me?"
Claude licked mustard off his thumb and heaved a disappointed sigh. "You're hopeless, is what you are. I can go my merry way if you'd like to blow up New York -- "
Peter grabbed him, physically stopping him from moving. Claude popped the last of the hot dog in his mouth, waiting for whatever Peter had to say. Which Peter wasn't sure about himself.
"You teleported," he said finally. "I saw you do it. And you resisted Sylar."
"Sylar's a terrible name. Sounds like a new brand of synthetic stocking."
"Don't change the subject."
"What's your point, then?" Claude asked.
"You're not just the invisible man," Peter said, frustrated.
Claude shrugged. "I never said I was just the invisible man."
"You're like me. Aren't you?" Peter asked. "You can do what I can do. You're an Empath."
"Keep your bloody voice down."
"Are there others?"
"I think we'd be safe in saying that Sylar bastard's probably one, in his own twisted way," Claude replied.
"Why didn't you tell me you were like me?" Peter asked. He heard a note of desperation creep into his voice, and he bit down hard on it.
"Wasn't really necessary," Claude answered. "Would it have helped your bleedin' heart to know it?"
"Might have, if I thought you understood what was going on with me," Peter answered.
"I didn't have to understand. You learned just fine not knowing. Now, d'you want to learn more, or d'you want to go on playing j'accuse?"
Peter reached into his pocket and took out the flash drive, holding it under Claude's nose.
"Don't you even care what happened to Mohinder? Don't you care why Sylar was after me?" he asked. Claude studied the little drive.
"What's that, a lighter?" he asked.
"It's a list. A list of people like us. Dozens, maybe hundreds. It's why Sylar was there. Mohinder's in a coma because he wouldn't give this to him."
"And you're carryin' it round New York for any pickpocket to lift."
Peter often had the urge to punch Claude in the face, though he knew he'd probably come out worse if he started anything. He growled.
"You might not have any responsibilities, but I do. I've got to look after Claire and find out what's on this list and somehow stop New York from blowing up -- "
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't have responsibilities," Claude answered, just as sharply.
"Then stop playing around with hats and hot dogs and help me!" Peter said. "Give me a straight answer once in a while!"
Claude gave him the coolest, most measuring look he'd ever experienced.
"There's a condemned factory off West 59th, near the docks," he said. "Bright yellow loading doors. Kemp's Baked Goods. Tonight. Go early; I'll be there by nine."
Peter let him go this time, watching as he disappeared (well, not literally) into the crowd. It didn't strike him until he was almost all the way to his mother's house that Claude had actually admitted he was still in town because of Peter.
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - ODESSA, TEXAS
When hell broke loose, Matt nearly went blind.
There were simply so many people, thinking so many things, their thoughts all amplified by adrenaline and panic. He was forced to let Bennett lead him, clutching his head the whole time as they ran through the eerily empty halls.
Primatech Paper had some very interesting contingency plans for emergencies. Bennett knew them all, and apparently his boss had forgotten just how much Bennett knew. If his boss had even been aware of these things in the first place.
Out in the fresh air, after miles of subterranean pipe-tunnels, Matt heaved breath after breath of fresh air, trying not to hear Bennett, trying not to hear anyone. He didn't know where they were and didn't care; after the last few minutes, he'd happily go back and spend the rest of his life in the cell if it meant never hearing another voice in his head.
"It's been two hours," Bennett said, and Matt realised he must have said it aloud. Either that or Bennett was still hearing him.
"I think I'm gonna puke," Matt replied.
"Well, do it and get it over with then," Bennett suggested. Matt breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. When the world was steady again, he took a look around.
They were in the middle of nowhere, near a drainage tunnel that ran out under a two-lane road.
"How many others do you think got free?" he asked.
"Maybe a few. Don't tell me you're upset about that."
"I don't want dangerous people on the loose any more than you do."
"But you don't want Primatech holding them, either," Bennett said.
"Can we argue ethics later?" Matt asked. "Where the hell are we?"
"Seventeen eighty-eight," Bennett said.
"What?"
"FTM seventeen eighty-eight." Bennett frowned. "Farm to market road seventeen eighty-eight. Connects to interestate twenty near the airport."
"Farm to market," Matt said. "Jesus, get me out of Texas."
"That's the idea," Bennett said.
"I'm going the hell back to Los Angeles."
Bennett just looked at him.
"What?"
"You're not going back to LA. Not unless you want to end up back at Primatech in a matter of hours," Bennett said.
"My wife -- "
"Is safer without you there," Bennett said. "Believe me. I know."
Matt fell silent.
"My wife and son are dead," Bennett continued. "The people I work for want to kill me. My daughter is all I have left. I need to find her."
"Where will you go?"
"New York. There's a man there who can find her," Bennett said. "You can come with me as far as the city, if you want."
"Why would you do that?" Matt asked. "You'd get there faster alone."
"You didn't have to get me out," Bennett replied. "Come on. There's a gas station nearby, we can steal a car."
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS -- NYC
"Nathan!" Peter caught sight of his brother as he was entering and Nathan was leaving, heading out a side hallway to his car. "Hey, Nathan! Wait up!"
Nathan stopped and turned, frowning. "Why aren't you with Claire?"
"Went and bought her some stuff," Peter said, holding up the bag in one hand. "I just wanted to say hi to Ma, then I'm gonna go drop this off and run some errands."
"Listen, I don't think Ma's really in a good mood right now," Nathan said, drawing Peter down the hallway and out of view of the main foyer. "Can it wait?"
"Sure, I guess..."
"I'll give you a lift back to the safe-house, I'm going there now."
"O...kay..." Peter said, following his brother out to the sleek sedan that was waiting for them. The driver held the door for them as they climbed in, Peter passing the bag to Nathan so that he could buckle his seatbelt.
"Light reading?" Nathan asked, holding up one of the magazines.
"It's for Claire. I got her some stuff."
"Sure it is." Nathan dug deeper. "Peter, there's half a dozen hairbrushes in here."
"I didn't know what kind she wanted."
Nathan silently held up a box of tampons. Peter blushed.
"Girls need girl stuff," he mumbled. Nathan put them back in the bag and set it on the floor of the car.
"Hey -- Ma said she told you about dad," he said quietly.
"What about him?"
"Dad killing himself."
"Oh," Peter said. "Yeah. Did you know?"
"Not until a few days ago. I got curious. I started looking at things."
"Like what?"
Nathan chewed his lip thoughtfully. "My...daughter," he said, fumbling the words a little, "is like us. You're like me. Claire's mother is too. Suresh said whatever this is, it's in our genes, which means it's probably passed down from parent to child."
Peter stared at him. "You think Dad -- "
"Dad was diagnosed with a mental illness when he was twenty-three. That's not that much younger than you are."
"You think Dad could -- what, read minds? Leap tall buildings in a single bound?"
"I don't know. Neither does Ma. She says when he was diagnosed he thought he had special powers, but that was years ago and his medical records don't exist anymore. Ma made sure of that."
"Because of your campaign," Peter said.
"Yes, Peter, because it doesn't hurt him and because I need all the help I can get, even now."
"Doesn't exactly help us though, does it?" Peter asked. Nathan rubbed his eyes.
"I don't think Dad killed himself because he was insane. Maybe he didn't kill himself at all."
"What did Ma say?"
"She's...worried about us. And about Claire. She's not exactly happy with me right now either." Nathan sighed.
Peter sat quietly for a while, contemplating the idea that his father might have been like he was, like Nathan was. That would make Claire the third generation.
"I want Hiro and Ando back, by the way," Nathan said, into the silence. "I'm going to send them down to register voters in the Japanese neighborhoods."
"Not everything is about your campaign, Nathan."
Nathan shrugged, but he wouldn't meet Peter's eyes. "It is to me."
***
JACK BAKER - SOUTHERN NEBRASKA
"FREEDOM'S JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
NOTHING AIN'T WORTH NOTHING BUT IT'S FREE!"
Jack had the windows down and the radio blasting, and life seemed good. The Versa had satellite, which totally saved Jack's sanity driving through the midwest. He should have made a mix CD before he left but, with like a million channels to choose from, why bother?
It was pretty swank. Maybe the Japanese dudes were high rollers and there'd be some kind of reward. He knew walkabout wasn't about money, but seriously! A reward!
"FEELIN GOOD WAS EASY LORD WHEN BOBBY SANG THE BLUES
FEELIN GOOD WAS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME
GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME AND MY BOBBY MCGEE!"
He scanned up the channels till he found a rock station with a song just ending. The next song came on and he shouted "YEAH!" and turned it up another few notches on the volume meter. Jack picked up his speed, knowing that the next speed trap wasn't for miles, and sang his heart out.
I have run, I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
Only to be with you
Only to beeeee with you
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...
Jack felt a light shock run up his arms, and the car nearly swerved off the road. He braked slowly and pulled it over, wondering if he'd fallen asleep at the wheel. He didn't feel tired. He hadn't smoked up since he got behind the wheel, because he wasn't a jackass, but he was sorely tempted. His heart was going a mile a minute and the radio was still on.
I have spoke with the tongues of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
Jack wondered, with a small portion of his brain, if he could help Bono out. The rest of his mind was focused on the little static shocks sparking off his skin, and the slideshow playing behind his eyes. Angels and devils and city walls, oh my...
He saw the Japanese men for the first time -- one round-faced and grinning, the other much more dangerous about the eyes. They were waiting for him and didn't even know it. He saw the angel and the devil, too, and the one who was going to carry the cross, and he saw the one he was looking for. Not the Japanese dudes or the dark-haired boy who was looking for his teacher or the little kid or the tormented man pursuing them all.
Jack closed his eyes and found her. It wasn't even very hard. It was kinda like GoogleEarth, in fact. From where he was he lifted up into the air and fell back to earth in New York City. There she was, sitting with the angel. A yellow-haired girl well out of place but utterly unbreakable -- and her life was only just beginning.
The girl. The blond girl.
Jack Baker fell in love.
***
TED SPRAGUE AND HANA GITELMAN - ODESSA, TEXAS
Ted didn't know where he was. He didn't know how he'd gotten there, and he was not entirely certain what his own name was.
A stinging slap against his face brought the world sharply into focus, and he looked up angrily into a pair of dark, intent eyes.
"You must wake up, Ted," a voice said, and Ted recognised it -- Hana.
"If you can walk, you can be free again," she continued. "So you must walk."
Ted tried to sit up, then to stand; he was okay until he got onto his feet, and then he staggered against her. She was surprisingly wiry, and caught him under one arm effortlessly.
"Where?" he asked, confused.
"Up and out," she replied with a reassuring smile.
And Ted began to walk.
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS AND CLAIRE - NYC
Peter was gone longer than Claire thought he would be, and she was almost pacing the floor by the time he returned. He and her father -- Nathan -- her father -- showed up together, and Peter went to the kitchen, abandoning her with his brother.
"Sleep all right?" Nathan asked, setting his briefcase on the table and sitting down. He gestured her easily into the other chair, eyes never leaving her face. She sat awkwardly, wondering what to say.
"Yeah, I guess," she replied.
"Good. Got enough food?"
"Yeah," she said, looking down at her hands. "I think Peter bought some stuff, too."
"Glad he's looking after you," Nathan said, looking as if he wasn't exactly glad at all.
"What do I call you?" Claire blurted. He frowned. "I mean, should I say Nathan, or Dad, or what?"
She expected he would probably tell her to say whatever she was most comfortable with, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed to honestly consider it.
"My children call me Dad," he said, finally. "You're my child. I ran off once; I'm not doing that again."
"Okay. Dad," she added. It sounded odd in her mouth, the wrong sort of shape, but it made him smile, which was nice.
"Good. I don't plan on having you stuck here forever, just -- " he hesitated, and Claire saw regret in his eyes. "I have an election."
Claire tried to smile. "Don't want to ruin the election."
"I hoped you'd understand." Nathan touched her hand. "There's a lot I want to ask you. Probably a lot you want to ask me, too."
"Yeah, I just..." Claire ran a hand through her hair. "I can't think of any, is the problem."
Nathan nodded, and the awkward silence lengthened. In the kitchen, Peter crinkled cellophane, putting something away.
"So you're a cheerleader," Nathan said, suddenly.
"Was," Claire replied. "It didn't take."
"Sorry. Are you, uh, a good student?"
"I guess so. B average."
"Only B?" Nathan -- her father -- asked.
"I didn't do so well in Bio," Claire shrugged.
"Me neither. And between the two of us, Peter flunked Social Studies," her father grinned. Claire grinned back, glancing at the kitchen door. Her father checked his watch.
"Listen -- you think of what you want to ask me, okay? I've got to get to the office. I don't know when I can come again, probably tomorrow. I'll call tonight if you want."
"I'd like that," Claire said.
"Okay then."
"Can I ask you one thing?" she said, as he stood to leave. He paused, looking down at her.
"Of course."
"You said you can fly."
"Yeah, I try not to talk about that too much."
"When did you do it? How old were you?"
He looked down at her thoughtfully.
"Older than you," he said quietly. "I'll come back. Be good."
He bent over her and before she could flinch back in surprise, he'd kissed her forehead, his cologne filling her nostrils.
Then he was gone.
Next time, on Heroes ("Family Photos"):
"I have a contingency plan." "Guys like you always do."
This was Mohinder's family. The woman was probably a girlfriend. God, his mother probably didn't know he was in the hospital. And that he might not wake up.
"I have a hotel room," she said, and hoped on the other end of the line, that pretty olive skin was blushing.
"Oh no -- I mean, it's nothing, I just didn't realise you were gay," Claire said.
"Eat up," Bennett barked. "Let's pay and get out of here. Then we need to find a drugstore."
Jack stood up too, toe to toe with the guy, and looked him in the eye. Then he ran.
"That reminds me, I could murder a kebab. School's out for the night. You're paying, shirtless wonder."
Chapter Six
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