sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:37 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:37 am
Entry tags:
The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Seven
Title: The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Seven: Lost And Found
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Peter is complicated, Nathan is Superman, Claude is sneaky, Jessica is this close, and Jack isn't alone.
Notes: Thanks to Heidi for the beta-read on this one and for fixing my political errors. And I can't take credit for Isaac's painting, all I did was send it through a filter...
Originally posted 3.29.07
PETER PETRELLI AND CLAIRE BENNETT - THE SAFE HOUSE - MANHATTAN
"You really don't have to cook breakfast," Peter said, sitting at the tiny kitchen table. "I'm kind of a cold-cereal guy myself."
"Is that so?" Claire asked, grinning at him. "Fancy breakfast is bananas on top, huh?"
"Fancy breakfast is heating up the pop tart," Peter laughed.
"Mom taught me that breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Claire said, putting a frying pan on the stove and turning the gas on.
"Is this some kind of southern hospitality thing?"
"Starvation, that's a New York thing?" she replied, taking two glasses out of the cupboard. She poured orange juice into both and put one down in front of him. "I didn't hear you come in last night."
"I'm stealthy," Peter replied. Claire took a package of bacon out of the fridge. "So your mom taught you how to cook?"
"Yeah well, you know. My adopted mom," Claire qualified, feeling a twinge of sadness.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Peter mumbled.
"It's okay. I got to meet you and my dad, right?" Claire said lightly. "And hey, who wouldn't want a rent-free apartment in New York City?"
"Yeah, totally," Peter said, drinking his orange juice. Claire tossed a few strips of bacon in the pan and put the rest away, taking out a carton of eggs. As she cracked them into a bowl and began to beat them with a fork, Peter got up from the table and squeezed past her, going to the pantry cupboard.
"Breakfast is a great idea, but I need coffee," he said, taking down a can of instant. There was no kettle, so he filled a pan at the sink and hip-checked her out of the way gently, setting it on a back burner. Claire felt herself grin like an idiot and then wanted to smack herself. He's your uncle.
Peter leaned on the counter next to the stove, giving her enough room to flip the bacon. It hissed and spattered, but as soon as the burn spots appeared on her hands, they vanished.
"Nice trick," he said.
"Life would have been a lot easier without it," she sighed.
"Yeah, well. Lot less interesting, too," Peter said. "It's a balance, you know?"
"I guess."
"Listen..." Peter tossed hair out of his eyes and bit his lip. "I gotta tell you about -- well, a lot really. Why I went to Texas to save you, for starters. Maybe you can tell me some things, too."
"Sure, I mean, I can try," Claire stammered. Peter nodded.
She listened, turning the bacon and starting the scrambled eggs as Peter poured out the story to her: the Japanese man who'd sent him to Texas, the paintings, the vision, the coma. He kept his eyes on the fridge opposite him, but she could see the fear in his face. Not fear of dying, she started to understand, but fear of hurting people, of destroying this city which he clearly loved. He finally fell silent, rubbing his chin with his fingers, and she handed him a plate of food. He poured some hot water into a mug, stirred the coffee into it, and carried the mug and plate to the table.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, sitting down across from him. He took a bite of egg, thoughtfully.
"I'm learning how to control what I do," he said. "I don't know if it's gonna be enough. I don't know what I'm gonna do if it isn't. I think -- if I can't master all this, and soon, I think maybe you should leave. Nathan won't, I don't think he really believes it's going to happen, even after everything, but you should. If I have to, I'll get Hiro and Ando to take you out of town."
"Peter..."
"I know, I know, you're indestructible, but I don't think there'd be enough left of you -- not if you're as close as you were in the dreams."
Claire studied her eggs, her appetite suddenly gone.
"Will you stay here today?" she asked. "I know my dad wants to get to know me and all, but I feel...better with you. I'm not scared of you."
"Are you scared of Nathan? You totally don't need to -- "
"No, just...I want you to know that. I'm not scared of what you can do."
Peter smiled at her. "Sure, I can stay here today. Well, until this afternoon."
"More of your complicated guy?"
He laughed. "Yeah, something like that."
***
NATHAN, ANDO, AND HIRO - PETRELLI CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
"Okay, so, here's what you do," Nathan said, handing Ando and Hiro a clipboard each and putting a box of pens on Ando's. "You tell them that you want to poll them about their voting choices, and ask them to fill this out. "You can fill out the forms for them if you want to translate yourself."
"Nice pens," Ando said, holding one up. It was printed "VOTE PETRELLI, NOVEMBER 7".
"Thanks. Now, while they're filling out the form, you want to tell them that you're from the Petrelli campaign and you're reminding people to vote because Nathan Petrelli cares about the rights of minorities and wants them to have a voice in their government. You can tell them that I'm interested in immigration issues and I want to make sure everyone in New York has the same opportunities I've had to be successful and happy."
Hiro gave him an earnest look. "You are a good man."
"Let's try to make sure people believe that," Nathan replied. "If people ask questions you can't answer or you think you're in over your head, just tell them to visit the website -- see?" he held up one of the pens, pointing to the URL in small print.
"Right!" Ando said.
"And be nice to the kids, you know? Future voters."
Nathan stepped back and look at the two men, who were juggling the clipboards a little uncertainly. "Oh, and I almost forgot..."
He picked up a plastic-wrapped package from a nearby chair and tore the plastic off, shaking it out. The cheap nylon backpack was blazoned with PETRELLI 06 on the back and was objectively pretty tacky, but Hiro took it and put the clipboards in it and beamed at him.
"We have something for you, too," Hiro said, as Ando put his paraphenalia in the bag as well. Hiro reached into his pocket and pulled out something tiny and metallic. Nathan took it out of his palm and studied it. Then he grinned.
"Supahman!" Hiro said, while Nathan traced the S on the tiny enameled Superman logo. "Whoosh!"
Nathan was about to smile and gently brush the gift off, but then he had a sudden vision. It wasn't anything supernatural, just one of those flashes of insight that come to instinctive politicians. He saw himself being interviewed -- he was scheduled to do a local talk show tomorrow morning -- and the little pin catching the light.
The pretty brunette leaned over and asked him, "Now what's all this? This little pin?" Then, coyly, "Are you a superman fan, Mr. Petrelli? Courting the comic-book vote?"
"Oh, this! No," Nathan saw himself replying. "This was a gift from one of my volunteers. You know, you can't get anywhere in politics without people, and my volunteers are especially important to me because they're just so -- passionate about what we can accomplish together. They really believe I'm the man for the job, I guess."
"That's so sweet," the brunette said. "Well, Nathan "Superman" Petrelli, thank you for coming on the show..."
Nathan came back down to earth and undid the little fob on the back of the pin, adding it to his lapel right below the American flag pin that was part of the political uniform these days.
"Whoosh," he said to Hiro, who shouldered the backpack and saluted. "Now, get out there."
He watched the two men leave. He was thinking something -- something about Hiro, and his unique abilities still barely touched on -- when his blackberry alarm went off.
Ah. Yes.
Time to see Niki, the beautiful blonde with the dangerous habit of cropping up when Nathan least expected her.
***
JACK BAKER - OUTSIDE DAYTON, OHIO
Jack had stuck mostly to the highways, avoiding construction and traffic jams, trying not to go through big cities. Near Dayton, however, he found himself pulling off and into the suburbs. Something was going on; it felt like the back of his brain was tingling inside his skull.
He followed his instincts, driving down the long empty streets (weekday in the suburb; parents at work, kids at school) until he reached a low brick building, a high school. Oh man. Good times.
He parked the car and got out, blending seamlessly into the crowds of kids passing between classes. He made his way to the gym, where a class of senior boys was playing volleyball. A handful of them were lifting weights in another, smaller room, and in a third room there was one guy in a makeshift batting cage.
Jack listened carefully from behind the door as the coach shouted encouragement at the batter, occasionally telling him to get his shoulder up or step forward more. Jack wasn't a jock by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew pro-level ballplaying when he saw it. And this was the dude he was here to see.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?" the coach asked, suddenly appearing in front of Jack. Jack smiled at him. His hat told Jack all he needed to know -- guy was a Sox fan.
"Name's Baker," he said, offering his hand. "Sorry to show up unannounced, I was passing through and I heard some word about your boy here."
"Mikey?" the coach asked.
"Yeah. Sorry..." Jack felt in his pockets. "I haven't got a card on me. I'm with the Sox, I'm a new talent scout. He's got promise."
"Yeah, well," the coach said gruffly. "Couple of years, maybe."
"Maybe so. You mind if I have a word with the kid?"
"Mikey!" the coach called. "Take a break!"
Jack waited outside for Mikey -- Mikey Blair, Jack could see his uniform hanging in his locker as clear as he could see the nose on Mikey's face.
"Hey there," he said, shaking the other boy's hand and leading him through the corridor under the bleachers, out into the wet mid-morning. "Listen, I just told your coach I'm a talent scout and I'm so totally not, but I need to ask you a question."
"Uh...okay?" Mikey said, rubbing the back of his head.
"You look like you're hitting homers every time."
"Yeah, well, I did a lot of training last spring," Mikey replied, but he didn't quite meet Jack's eyes.
Bingo.
"So, when did you know you had super strength?" Jack asked.
The silence got kinda long.
"I'm not on steroids," Mikey said.
"I know. How much you lift on the weights, last time you tried?"
Mikey muttered something.
"What?"
"SUV," Mikey said.
"Listen, I'm not up on the weight-lifting lingo, did you say you can like -- bench an SUV?"
"It got stuck in some mud, I just...picked it up and dragged it out. How'd you know?" Mikey demanded.
"I'm not here to get you in trouble. I'm like you. I mean, I can't leg-lift a Navigator, but I find stuff. People. Things. Uh, by the way, your homework got stuck in the back of your locker."
"Are you serious?" Mikey asked.
"Yeah."
"So this isn't just me? I'm not some kind of freak?"
"Well, you probably are a freak, but you're not the only freak, is kinda my point," Jack replied. To his shock, Mikey swept him up in an enormous hug which threatened to crack his ribs. "Uh...can't...breathe..."
"Shit! Sorry!" The other boy set him down again and wiped suspiciously damp eyes. "I'm always doing that. Sorry."
"It's cool. So..." Jack said awkwardly. "I just, you know. Found you, and wanted to say."
"Are you from around here?"
"No, I'm on my way to New York, just passing through. I'm, uh, going to find this girl, who's like us. You can come if you want, but you look like you got a good thing going here, you know, groovy baseball career and all. But look me up sometime, okay? Here."
Jack took a pen out of his pocket and scribbled his email address on a gum wrapper, pressing it into Mikey's hand.
"I thought I was alone," Mikey said, staring down at the gum wrapper.
"Everybody does," Jack replied.
***
JESSICA SANDERS AND NATHAN PETRELLI - LOW DOWN MOTEL - NYC
Nathan occasionally wished that, like Peter, he could disappear. It would make some of his less legitimate dealings so much easier.
Instead, he made do with a pair of sunglasses and a black ten-gallon hat, borrowed from the lost-and-found at headquarters. He figured nobody looking at a cowboy hat would immediately think Italian-American politico.
He took the subway and arrived at the motel on foot, knocking on the door to room 215 as she'd told him to do. There were footsteps inside, and then he heard someone lean against the door. It opened with a click.
The room inside was small but tidy, though the bed was rumpled. Niki, hiding behind the door, closed it quickly and re-locked it. Nathan took off the hat and sunglasses, offering her his hand.
"Thanks for coming," she said, eyes darting sidelong, never quite lighting on his face. "I appreciate it."
"You said you had some information for me," he said.
"Good to see you too."
He gave her his winning-candidate smile, all teeth and jaw. "Sorry. I guess I'm...concerned about being in a hotel room, again, with a beautiful blonde. Last time you made me punch you, and I still don't know why."
She shook her head, as if she were trying to shake off some memory. "I'm sorry. My life is...a little strange."
"Do tell."
"Linderman has me under his thumb," she said. "Just like you. I'm...I'm here because of him. Oh -- sorry, sit down if you want."
Nathan sat in the one chair in the room, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped between them. She sat on the bed, her hair falling across her face. Nathan noticed that the mirror on the bathroom sink had been covered over with a towel. Niki clearly didn't want to look even herself in the eye.
She wasn't exactly dressed to seduce, but there was something magnetic about her, an almost electric air of restrained power. Nathan liked power, he wasn't going to lie to himself about that, but he'd rarely encountered such a tangible aura of it in any other person. Even in tattered jeans, barefoot and still damp-haired from the shower, in a plain white t-shirt, she was also ridiculously attractive. In fact, when the light hit her just right and she leaned back...
"You're here from Linderman," he said, clearing his throat.
"He sent me here," she said, whispering. "To make sure you win."
Nathan looked at her.
"You?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"I don't -- "
"I can go places you can't, I can say things you can't say," she said softly. "I've already started, I..."
"Niki, what have you done?" he asked.
"Tomorrow, you need to make a speech," she said. "It's all arranged. The union...a pro-union speech. The unions are waiting for it."
"Shouldn't be hard, I'm pro-union, but such a direct statement -- I could lose voters."
"I know, but...think of it this way," she said, gaining momentum. "If you come out pro-union and lose five percent of your voters, you gain fifteen percent -- maybe twenty. Union means something in New York. It means a lot."
She was -- remarkable, really remarkable. Nathan nodded.
"I can do that."
"Then that's a start. I can do more, I just..." she twisted her fingers together. "More depends on you winning than just you."
"What do you mean?"
"If you win, I'm -- I'm free of him. I'm out from under," she said. "And I can't, if you don't win, I don't think..."
She started to cry, trying to hold it in. Nathan crossed the space between them and crouched in front of her.
"Come on, don't do that," he said, smiling at her. "Come on, don't cry. I'm going to win. And then you'll get free..."
She finally met his eyes, sniffling, trying not to cry, and Nathan was only human. He grasped her shoulders.
"I'm going to win," he said. "You'll get out of this."
Their faces were dangerously close, and he knew it, and still he didn't move when she swayed forward and kissed him.
She'd been the only one since the accident, six months ago, and otherwise he'd had to make do with his memories of Heidi and dreams and nothing else, because even if there were things he and Heidi could do, the physical therapist had said so, he didn't want to push and Heidi was still so anxious, god, who was he to ask for a blowjob when she couldn't even walk?
She leaned onto the bed and he went with Niki, following as she backed towards the headboard, her tongue in his mouth, her hands on his body. Pushing off his jacket, untucking his shirt, sliding down his thighs --
Nathan leaned back to shed his jacket completely and that was when he felt it. In his head, in the very center of his mind.
Nathan.
He stiffened and looked up, as if the word had come from above. Niki, writhing beneath him, clutched his ass and tried to pull him down, but he resisted.
NATHAN!
Peter's voice.
Nathan looked down at Niki and saw her, and saw something dreadful in her eyes -- soulless and cruel. He jerked back, almost falling off the bed, and knew deep down that the reason he didn't was because for just a second he floated.
"What's wrong?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow. Nathan nearly lost his composure a second time, but the ring of Peter's shout was still in his ears.
"I can't," he said. "I have to go -- I can't -- I'm sorry -- "
She watched as he tucked his shirt back in hurriedly, sloppily, and ran for the door.
He was four blocks away before he realised he'd left his hat behind.
***
JESSICA SANDERS AND CLAUDE RAINS - LOW DOWN MOTEL - NYC
"Shit," Jessica moaned, after the door closed. "I was this close."
She rolled over on her side, facing away from the door, then turned back restlessly...and then froze.
Out of the corner of her eye, she almost saw it -- surely she had just been expecting that stupid hat to be there on the table near the door, and that was why it seemed to be there for a second and then disappear.
She picked up her purse from beside the bed, kicked the bed itself, and stormed out, slamming the door.
Once she was gone, there was an amused exhalation from the other occupant of the room -- right before he appeared out of thin air.
Claude grinned down at the black hat, touching the brim of his own.
"Great minds think alike," he murmured.
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - JFK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - NYC
"My head is cold," Matt complained. It was not the first time the complaint had been made.
"Jesus, I'll buy you a hat," Bennett replied, irritated. He hadn't slept well the night before and couldn't sleep on the airplane at all. He felt unprepared, vulnerable, and a little bit lost, a feeling he never enjoyed.
They weren't prepared for New York City weather, either. Parkman had a light coat on over his shirt, the warmest thing Bennett could find for him; Bennett's jacket was not much warmer, but it was impossible to find cold-weather clothing in Austin, where the temperature was holding steady at seventy-eight degrees.
Parkman's freshly-shaven head was bound to be cold, he'd concede, but it was a pretty good spur-of-the-moment disguise. Bennett knew that most people looked for two things when they were trying to find someone: hair and clothing. With Parkman's hair gone, he was that much closer to anonymity. Bennett ought to know. He'd made a career of blending in.
Bennett stopped in front of a clothing store inside the terminal, checking to see if they sold coats. He had a limited amount of money, but if it would shut Parkman up he'd buy the man a goddamn hat.
"Here," he said, passing the ex-cop a pair of hundred dollar bills. "Buy a small suitcase and a rolling bag. I'll get us some clothing. What's your jacket size?"
Parkman gave him a blank look.
"I'll guess," Bennett sighed.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS AND CLAIRE BENNETT - THE SAFE HOUSE - MANHATTAN
Peter had another two hours before he had to meet again with Claude, and he was enjoying the afternoon. It reminded him of his job with Mr. Deveaux; the long, sleepy, warm days while Mr. Deveaux dozed and Peter, inbetween regular checks and doses, was free to read or listen to music or just sit at the window overlooking the city and think.
Claire had asked him about New York, so he'd told her; she'd told him a little bit about Odessa, a little about her family, though he could tell she didn't really want to talk much about that. It was comfortable. She was pretty grown-up for a high-schooler. More grown up than Peter had been when he was her age.
They were sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, playing Scrabble (it had come with the apartment, like basic cable), when the door burst open and Nathan skidded inside.
They looked at him. He looked at them. Slowly, he closed the door.
"You all right?" Peter asked cautiously. Nathan's shirt was barely tucked in, and he was breathing heavily.
"Are you?" Nathan asked.
"Should I...not be?" Peter asked, grinning a little. It wasn't often Nathan was at a loss; he intended to enjoy it.
"I thought..." Nathan gestured at the two of them. "I thought I heard you, uh. Call me."
"Call you?" Peter asked. "Nah, we've been here all day. We did call the pizza place down the block, I'm gonna go get lunch in a minute."
"So you didn't, you know." Nathan made a circle next to his ear with one finger. Peter mimicked it. "With your...brain."
"Huh?" Peter asked, playing dumb. God, this was fun. It felt like they were kids again, when he used to tease Nathan into saying silly things that were a badly-needed blow to Nathan's overzealous sense of dignity.
"You didn't use...telepathy or something," Nathan said.
"No," Peter said.
"Peter, this isn't the time for games -- "
"I'm not playing games," Peter replied, getting a little annoyed. "Well, except Scrabble."
"You seriously didn't call me."
"With my brain? No." Peter shook his head. "You want in on the pizza? We're getting Hawaiian."
Nathan's concerned expression was momentarily overridden by a vaguely disgusted look. He really hated pineapple.
"No, I have...other things. I guess...carry on, then," Nathan said, looking perplexed.
"That was the plan," Peter replied, turning back to his Scrabble. He'd almost forgotten Claire was there, until she spoke up.
"Are you coming back today?" she asked.
"Not...no, I -- " Nathan frowned. "Today's busy. It's only going to get worse, the closer we get to election. I'll -- how about breakfast tomorrow?"
"She makes a mean scrambled egg," Peter put in.
"Can't wait to try them," Nathan said, with his patented politician's grin.
***
JACK BAKER - NEW YORK CITY AT LAST!
Jack rolled into New York around dinnertime that evening, and immediately understood why he had been avoiding the big cities.
As he passed through Newark on the interestate, he began to feel his brain clouding up. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, not like when he intentionally clouded his brain up. It was more like...he had spent three days seeing with absolute clarity, and now all this noise, all these people, were getting the hell in the way of his spirit walk.
Still, he pressed onwards, clinging to the thin thread that was now linking him to the Japanese dudes. He didn't know where he was going, except that it was towards them. Which incidentally meant that he was going towards the heart of New York City, where everyone was fucking insane. Seriously, how did people survive past infancy in this place?
Taxicab drivers honked and swore at him, other drivers cut him off, and pedestrians flipped him the bird, but he kept his cool. He was still on his quest, after all.
After about half an hour he began to figure out that it wasn't the city itself, the city wasn't some kind of malevolent monster. It was the people, so many people, and all of them were looking for stuff.
As soon as he thought it, an overwhelming sense of loss washed over him, and he nearly had to stop the car. Everyone was looking for something, mostly things Jack could feel pinging on his radar, glowing distantly. Love, sex, car keys, a decent cup of coffee, a parking space, a fix, a couple bucks for dinner. Even things Jack knew he couldn't find, like a sense of purpose or a way to add an extra hour onto the day.
"This is your trial," he repeated to himself. "There's no reward without a trial. The gods are, you know, seeing if you can cut it. Suck it up. Get through today and you're cool."
He closed his eyes and thought of the Japanese dudes again. The endless, ceaseless need of New York filled his ears, but he pressed onwards. Too late to turn back now.
Next Time, on Heroes ("Plot Twist"):
"See it," he whispered, and Peter's eyes whited out.
"Jack! Very nice to meet you. I am Hiro Nakamura," said Hiro, shaking his hand. "This is Ando Masahashi. We are from Tokyo."
Tick, tick goes his heart, and the monitor replies in the quiet room, beep, beep.
"When you're a kid, you think it's about savin' the world. When you grow up, you think it's about savin' yourself. Neither one seems real, anyway. Can't get your head around it. You think that nothing you do really has consequences. Until suddenly, one day, it does."
"This isn't his fault," Bennett said. "He warned me, didn't you, Claude."
"Soul-mate?" "Like, person you're meant to be with." "Like Ando!"
Claude was sprawled out against the stairs, his head crooked to one side and his eyes shut. Blood dripped from a gash in his scalp.
Chapter Eight
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Peter is complicated, Nathan is Superman, Claude is sneaky, Jessica is this close, and Jack isn't alone.
Notes: Thanks to Heidi for the beta-read on this one and for fixing my political errors. And I can't take credit for Isaac's painting, all I did was send it through a filter...
Originally posted 3.29.07
PETER PETRELLI AND CLAIRE BENNETT - THE SAFE HOUSE - MANHATTAN
"You really don't have to cook breakfast," Peter said, sitting at the tiny kitchen table. "I'm kind of a cold-cereal guy myself."
"Is that so?" Claire asked, grinning at him. "Fancy breakfast is bananas on top, huh?"
"Fancy breakfast is heating up the pop tart," Peter laughed.
"Mom taught me that breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Claire said, putting a frying pan on the stove and turning the gas on.
"Is this some kind of southern hospitality thing?"
"Starvation, that's a New York thing?" she replied, taking two glasses out of the cupboard. She poured orange juice into both and put one down in front of him. "I didn't hear you come in last night."
"I'm stealthy," Peter replied. Claire took a package of bacon out of the fridge. "So your mom taught you how to cook?"
"Yeah well, you know. My adopted mom," Claire qualified, feeling a twinge of sadness.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Peter mumbled.
"It's okay. I got to meet you and my dad, right?" Claire said lightly. "And hey, who wouldn't want a rent-free apartment in New York City?"
"Yeah, totally," Peter said, drinking his orange juice. Claire tossed a few strips of bacon in the pan and put the rest away, taking out a carton of eggs. As she cracked them into a bowl and began to beat them with a fork, Peter got up from the table and squeezed past her, going to the pantry cupboard.
"Breakfast is a great idea, but I need coffee," he said, taking down a can of instant. There was no kettle, so he filled a pan at the sink and hip-checked her out of the way gently, setting it on a back burner. Claire felt herself grin like an idiot and then wanted to smack herself. He's your uncle.
Peter leaned on the counter next to the stove, giving her enough room to flip the bacon. It hissed and spattered, but as soon as the burn spots appeared on her hands, they vanished.
"Nice trick," he said.
"Life would have been a lot easier without it," she sighed.
"Yeah, well. Lot less interesting, too," Peter said. "It's a balance, you know?"
"I guess."
"Listen..." Peter tossed hair out of his eyes and bit his lip. "I gotta tell you about -- well, a lot really. Why I went to Texas to save you, for starters. Maybe you can tell me some things, too."
"Sure, I mean, I can try," Claire stammered. Peter nodded.
She listened, turning the bacon and starting the scrambled eggs as Peter poured out the story to her: the Japanese man who'd sent him to Texas, the paintings, the vision, the coma. He kept his eyes on the fridge opposite him, but she could see the fear in his face. Not fear of dying, she started to understand, but fear of hurting people, of destroying this city which he clearly loved. He finally fell silent, rubbing his chin with his fingers, and she handed him a plate of food. He poured some hot water into a mug, stirred the coffee into it, and carried the mug and plate to the table.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, sitting down across from him. He took a bite of egg, thoughtfully.
"I'm learning how to control what I do," he said. "I don't know if it's gonna be enough. I don't know what I'm gonna do if it isn't. I think -- if I can't master all this, and soon, I think maybe you should leave. Nathan won't, I don't think he really believes it's going to happen, even after everything, but you should. If I have to, I'll get Hiro and Ando to take you out of town."
"Peter..."
"I know, I know, you're indestructible, but I don't think there'd be enough left of you -- not if you're as close as you were in the dreams."
Claire studied her eggs, her appetite suddenly gone.
"Will you stay here today?" she asked. "I know my dad wants to get to know me and all, but I feel...better with you. I'm not scared of you."
"Are you scared of Nathan? You totally don't need to -- "
"No, just...I want you to know that. I'm not scared of what you can do."
Peter smiled at her. "Sure, I can stay here today. Well, until this afternoon."
"More of your complicated guy?"
He laughed. "Yeah, something like that."
***
NATHAN, ANDO, AND HIRO - PETRELLI CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
"Okay, so, here's what you do," Nathan said, handing Ando and Hiro a clipboard each and putting a box of pens on Ando's. "You tell them that you want to poll them about their voting choices, and ask them to fill this out. "You can fill out the forms for them if you want to translate yourself."
"Nice pens," Ando said, holding one up. It was printed "VOTE PETRELLI, NOVEMBER 7".
"Thanks. Now, while they're filling out the form, you want to tell them that you're from the Petrelli campaign and you're reminding people to vote because Nathan Petrelli cares about the rights of minorities and wants them to have a voice in their government. You can tell them that I'm interested in immigration issues and I want to make sure everyone in New York has the same opportunities I've had to be successful and happy."
Hiro gave him an earnest look. "You are a good man."
"Let's try to make sure people believe that," Nathan replied. "If people ask questions you can't answer or you think you're in over your head, just tell them to visit the website -- see?" he held up one of the pens, pointing to the URL in small print.
"Right!" Ando said.
"And be nice to the kids, you know? Future voters."
Nathan stepped back and look at the two men, who were juggling the clipboards a little uncertainly. "Oh, and I almost forgot..."
He picked up a plastic-wrapped package from a nearby chair and tore the plastic off, shaking it out. The cheap nylon backpack was blazoned with PETRELLI 06 on the back and was objectively pretty tacky, but Hiro took it and put the clipboards in it and beamed at him.
"We have something for you, too," Hiro said, as Ando put his paraphenalia in the bag as well. Hiro reached into his pocket and pulled out something tiny and metallic. Nathan took it out of his palm and studied it. Then he grinned.
"Supahman!" Hiro said, while Nathan traced the S on the tiny enameled Superman logo. "Whoosh!"
Nathan was about to smile and gently brush the gift off, but then he had a sudden vision. It wasn't anything supernatural, just one of those flashes of insight that come to instinctive politicians. He saw himself being interviewed -- he was scheduled to do a local talk show tomorrow morning -- and the little pin catching the light.
The pretty brunette leaned over and asked him, "Now what's all this? This little pin?" Then, coyly, "Are you a superman fan, Mr. Petrelli? Courting the comic-book vote?"
"Oh, this! No," Nathan saw himself replying. "This was a gift from one of my volunteers. You know, you can't get anywhere in politics without people, and my volunteers are especially important to me because they're just so -- passionate about what we can accomplish together. They really believe I'm the man for the job, I guess."
"That's so sweet," the brunette said. "Well, Nathan "Superman" Petrelli, thank you for coming on the show..."
Nathan came back down to earth and undid the little fob on the back of the pin, adding it to his lapel right below the American flag pin that was part of the political uniform these days.
"Whoosh," he said to Hiro, who shouldered the backpack and saluted. "Now, get out there."
He watched the two men leave. He was thinking something -- something about Hiro, and his unique abilities still barely touched on -- when his blackberry alarm went off.
Ah. Yes.
Time to see Niki, the beautiful blonde with the dangerous habit of cropping up when Nathan least expected her.
***
JACK BAKER - OUTSIDE DAYTON, OHIO
Jack had stuck mostly to the highways, avoiding construction and traffic jams, trying not to go through big cities. Near Dayton, however, he found himself pulling off and into the suburbs. Something was going on; it felt like the back of his brain was tingling inside his skull.
He followed his instincts, driving down the long empty streets (weekday in the suburb; parents at work, kids at school) until he reached a low brick building, a high school. Oh man. Good times.
He parked the car and got out, blending seamlessly into the crowds of kids passing between classes. He made his way to the gym, where a class of senior boys was playing volleyball. A handful of them were lifting weights in another, smaller room, and in a third room there was one guy in a makeshift batting cage.
Jack listened carefully from behind the door as the coach shouted encouragement at the batter, occasionally telling him to get his shoulder up or step forward more. Jack wasn't a jock by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew pro-level ballplaying when he saw it. And this was the dude he was here to see.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?" the coach asked, suddenly appearing in front of Jack. Jack smiled at him. His hat told Jack all he needed to know -- guy was a Sox fan.
"Name's Baker," he said, offering his hand. "Sorry to show up unannounced, I was passing through and I heard some word about your boy here."
"Mikey?" the coach asked.
"Yeah. Sorry..." Jack felt in his pockets. "I haven't got a card on me. I'm with the Sox, I'm a new talent scout. He's got promise."
"Yeah, well," the coach said gruffly. "Couple of years, maybe."
"Maybe so. You mind if I have a word with the kid?"
"Mikey!" the coach called. "Take a break!"
Jack waited outside for Mikey -- Mikey Blair, Jack could see his uniform hanging in his locker as clear as he could see the nose on Mikey's face.
"Hey there," he said, shaking the other boy's hand and leading him through the corridor under the bleachers, out into the wet mid-morning. "Listen, I just told your coach I'm a talent scout and I'm so totally not, but I need to ask you a question."
"Uh...okay?" Mikey said, rubbing the back of his head.
"You look like you're hitting homers every time."
"Yeah, well, I did a lot of training last spring," Mikey replied, but he didn't quite meet Jack's eyes.
Bingo.
"So, when did you know you had super strength?" Jack asked.
The silence got kinda long.
"I'm not on steroids," Mikey said.
"I know. How much you lift on the weights, last time you tried?"
Mikey muttered something.
"What?"
"SUV," Mikey said.
"Listen, I'm not up on the weight-lifting lingo, did you say you can like -- bench an SUV?"
"It got stuck in some mud, I just...picked it up and dragged it out. How'd you know?" Mikey demanded.
"I'm not here to get you in trouble. I'm like you. I mean, I can't leg-lift a Navigator, but I find stuff. People. Things. Uh, by the way, your homework got stuck in the back of your locker."
"Are you serious?" Mikey asked.
"Yeah."
"So this isn't just me? I'm not some kind of freak?"
"Well, you probably are a freak, but you're not the only freak, is kinda my point," Jack replied. To his shock, Mikey swept him up in an enormous hug which threatened to crack his ribs. "Uh...can't...breathe..."
"Shit! Sorry!" The other boy set him down again and wiped suspiciously damp eyes. "I'm always doing that. Sorry."
"It's cool. So..." Jack said awkwardly. "I just, you know. Found you, and wanted to say."
"Are you from around here?"
"No, I'm on my way to New York, just passing through. I'm, uh, going to find this girl, who's like us. You can come if you want, but you look like you got a good thing going here, you know, groovy baseball career and all. But look me up sometime, okay? Here."
Jack took a pen out of his pocket and scribbled his email address on a gum wrapper, pressing it into Mikey's hand.
"I thought I was alone," Mikey said, staring down at the gum wrapper.
"Everybody does," Jack replied.
***
JESSICA SANDERS AND NATHAN PETRELLI - LOW DOWN MOTEL - NYC
Nathan occasionally wished that, like Peter, he could disappear. It would make some of his less legitimate dealings so much easier.
Instead, he made do with a pair of sunglasses and a black ten-gallon hat, borrowed from the lost-and-found at headquarters. He figured nobody looking at a cowboy hat would immediately think Italian-American politico.
He took the subway and arrived at the motel on foot, knocking on the door to room 215 as she'd told him to do. There were footsteps inside, and then he heard someone lean against the door. It opened with a click.
The room inside was small but tidy, though the bed was rumpled. Niki, hiding behind the door, closed it quickly and re-locked it. Nathan took off the hat and sunglasses, offering her his hand.
"Thanks for coming," she said, eyes darting sidelong, never quite lighting on his face. "I appreciate it."
"You said you had some information for me," he said.
"Good to see you too."
He gave her his winning-candidate smile, all teeth and jaw. "Sorry. I guess I'm...concerned about being in a hotel room, again, with a beautiful blonde. Last time you made me punch you, and I still don't know why."
She shook her head, as if she were trying to shake off some memory. "I'm sorry. My life is...a little strange."
"Do tell."
"Linderman has me under his thumb," she said. "Just like you. I'm...I'm here because of him. Oh -- sorry, sit down if you want."
Nathan sat in the one chair in the room, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped between them. She sat on the bed, her hair falling across her face. Nathan noticed that the mirror on the bathroom sink had been covered over with a towel. Niki clearly didn't want to look even herself in the eye.
She wasn't exactly dressed to seduce, but there was something magnetic about her, an almost electric air of restrained power. Nathan liked power, he wasn't going to lie to himself about that, but he'd rarely encountered such a tangible aura of it in any other person. Even in tattered jeans, barefoot and still damp-haired from the shower, in a plain white t-shirt, she was also ridiculously attractive. In fact, when the light hit her just right and she leaned back...
"You're here from Linderman," he said, clearing his throat.
"He sent me here," she said, whispering. "To make sure you win."
Nathan looked at her.
"You?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"I don't -- "
"I can go places you can't, I can say things you can't say," she said softly. "I've already started, I..."
"Niki, what have you done?" he asked.
"Tomorrow, you need to make a speech," she said. "It's all arranged. The union...a pro-union speech. The unions are waiting for it."
"Shouldn't be hard, I'm pro-union, but such a direct statement -- I could lose voters."
"I know, but...think of it this way," she said, gaining momentum. "If you come out pro-union and lose five percent of your voters, you gain fifteen percent -- maybe twenty. Union means something in New York. It means a lot."
She was -- remarkable, really remarkable. Nathan nodded.
"I can do that."
"Then that's a start. I can do more, I just..." she twisted her fingers together. "More depends on you winning than just you."
"What do you mean?"
"If you win, I'm -- I'm free of him. I'm out from under," she said. "And I can't, if you don't win, I don't think..."
She started to cry, trying to hold it in. Nathan crossed the space between them and crouched in front of her.
"Come on, don't do that," he said, smiling at her. "Come on, don't cry. I'm going to win. And then you'll get free..."
She finally met his eyes, sniffling, trying not to cry, and Nathan was only human. He grasped her shoulders.
"I'm going to win," he said. "You'll get out of this."
Their faces were dangerously close, and he knew it, and still he didn't move when she swayed forward and kissed him.
She'd been the only one since the accident, six months ago, and otherwise he'd had to make do with his memories of Heidi and dreams and nothing else, because even if there were things he and Heidi could do, the physical therapist had said so, he didn't want to push and Heidi was still so anxious, god, who was he to ask for a blowjob when she couldn't even walk?
She leaned onto the bed and he went with Niki, following as she backed towards the headboard, her tongue in his mouth, her hands on his body. Pushing off his jacket, untucking his shirt, sliding down his thighs --
Nathan leaned back to shed his jacket completely and that was when he felt it. In his head, in the very center of his mind.
Nathan.
He stiffened and looked up, as if the word had come from above. Niki, writhing beneath him, clutched his ass and tried to pull him down, but he resisted.
NATHAN!
Peter's voice.
Nathan looked down at Niki and saw her, and saw something dreadful in her eyes -- soulless and cruel. He jerked back, almost falling off the bed, and knew deep down that the reason he didn't was because for just a second he floated.
"What's wrong?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow. Nathan nearly lost his composure a second time, but the ring of Peter's shout was still in his ears.
"I can't," he said. "I have to go -- I can't -- I'm sorry -- "
She watched as he tucked his shirt back in hurriedly, sloppily, and ran for the door.
He was four blocks away before he realised he'd left his hat behind.
***
JESSICA SANDERS AND CLAUDE RAINS - LOW DOWN MOTEL - NYC
"Shit," Jessica moaned, after the door closed. "I was this close."
She rolled over on her side, facing away from the door, then turned back restlessly...and then froze.
Out of the corner of her eye, she almost saw it -- surely she had just been expecting that stupid hat to be there on the table near the door, and that was why it seemed to be there for a second and then disappear.
She picked up her purse from beside the bed, kicked the bed itself, and stormed out, slamming the door.
Once she was gone, there was an amused exhalation from the other occupant of the room -- right before he appeared out of thin air.
Claude grinned down at the black hat, touching the brim of his own.
"Great minds think alike," he murmured.
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - JFK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - NYC
"My head is cold," Matt complained. It was not the first time the complaint had been made.
"Jesus, I'll buy you a hat," Bennett replied, irritated. He hadn't slept well the night before and couldn't sleep on the airplane at all. He felt unprepared, vulnerable, and a little bit lost, a feeling he never enjoyed.
They weren't prepared for New York City weather, either. Parkman had a light coat on over his shirt, the warmest thing Bennett could find for him; Bennett's jacket was not much warmer, but it was impossible to find cold-weather clothing in Austin, where the temperature was holding steady at seventy-eight degrees.
Parkman's freshly-shaven head was bound to be cold, he'd concede, but it was a pretty good spur-of-the-moment disguise. Bennett knew that most people looked for two things when they were trying to find someone: hair and clothing. With Parkman's hair gone, he was that much closer to anonymity. Bennett ought to know. He'd made a career of blending in.
Bennett stopped in front of a clothing store inside the terminal, checking to see if they sold coats. He had a limited amount of money, but if it would shut Parkman up he'd buy the man a goddamn hat.
"Here," he said, passing the ex-cop a pair of hundred dollar bills. "Buy a small suitcase and a rolling bag. I'll get us some clothing. What's your jacket size?"
Parkman gave him a blank look.
"I'll guess," Bennett sighed.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS AND CLAIRE BENNETT - THE SAFE HOUSE - MANHATTAN
Peter had another two hours before he had to meet again with Claude, and he was enjoying the afternoon. It reminded him of his job with Mr. Deveaux; the long, sleepy, warm days while Mr. Deveaux dozed and Peter, inbetween regular checks and doses, was free to read or listen to music or just sit at the window overlooking the city and think.
Claire had asked him about New York, so he'd told her; she'd told him a little bit about Odessa, a little about her family, though he could tell she didn't really want to talk much about that. It was comfortable. She was pretty grown-up for a high-schooler. More grown up than Peter had been when he was her age.
They were sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, playing Scrabble (it had come with the apartment, like basic cable), when the door burst open and Nathan skidded inside.
They looked at him. He looked at them. Slowly, he closed the door.
"You all right?" Peter asked cautiously. Nathan's shirt was barely tucked in, and he was breathing heavily.
"Are you?" Nathan asked.
"Should I...not be?" Peter asked, grinning a little. It wasn't often Nathan was at a loss; he intended to enjoy it.
"I thought..." Nathan gestured at the two of them. "I thought I heard you, uh. Call me."
"Call you?" Peter asked. "Nah, we've been here all day. We did call the pizza place down the block, I'm gonna go get lunch in a minute."
"So you didn't, you know." Nathan made a circle next to his ear with one finger. Peter mimicked it. "With your...brain."
"Huh?" Peter asked, playing dumb. God, this was fun. It felt like they were kids again, when he used to tease Nathan into saying silly things that were a badly-needed blow to Nathan's overzealous sense of dignity.
"You didn't use...telepathy or something," Nathan said.
"No," Peter said.
"Peter, this isn't the time for games -- "
"I'm not playing games," Peter replied, getting a little annoyed. "Well, except Scrabble."
"You seriously didn't call me."
"With my brain? No." Peter shook his head. "You want in on the pizza? We're getting Hawaiian."
Nathan's concerned expression was momentarily overridden by a vaguely disgusted look. He really hated pineapple.
"No, I have...other things. I guess...carry on, then," Nathan said, looking perplexed.
"That was the plan," Peter replied, turning back to his Scrabble. He'd almost forgotten Claire was there, until she spoke up.
"Are you coming back today?" she asked.
"Not...no, I -- " Nathan frowned. "Today's busy. It's only going to get worse, the closer we get to election. I'll -- how about breakfast tomorrow?"
"She makes a mean scrambled egg," Peter put in.
"Can't wait to try them," Nathan said, with his patented politician's grin.
***
JACK BAKER - NEW YORK CITY AT LAST!
Jack rolled into New York around dinnertime that evening, and immediately understood why he had been avoiding the big cities.
As he passed through Newark on the interestate, he began to feel his brain clouding up. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, not like when he intentionally clouded his brain up. It was more like...he had spent three days seeing with absolute clarity, and now all this noise, all these people, were getting the hell in the way of his spirit walk.
Still, he pressed onwards, clinging to the thin thread that was now linking him to the Japanese dudes. He didn't know where he was going, except that it was towards them. Which incidentally meant that he was going towards the heart of New York City, where everyone was fucking insane. Seriously, how did people survive past infancy in this place?
Taxicab drivers honked and swore at him, other drivers cut him off, and pedestrians flipped him the bird, but he kept his cool. He was still on his quest, after all.
After about half an hour he began to figure out that it wasn't the city itself, the city wasn't some kind of malevolent monster. It was the people, so many people, and all of them were looking for stuff.
As soon as he thought it, an overwhelming sense of loss washed over him, and he nearly had to stop the car. Everyone was looking for something, mostly things Jack could feel pinging on his radar, glowing distantly. Love, sex, car keys, a decent cup of coffee, a parking space, a fix, a couple bucks for dinner. Even things Jack knew he couldn't find, like a sense of purpose or a way to add an extra hour onto the day.
"This is your trial," he repeated to himself. "There's no reward without a trial. The gods are, you know, seeing if you can cut it. Suck it up. Get through today and you're cool."
He closed his eyes and thought of the Japanese dudes again. The endless, ceaseless need of New York filled his ears, but he pressed onwards. Too late to turn back now.
Next Time, on Heroes ("Plot Twist"):
"See it," he whispered, and Peter's eyes whited out.
"Jack! Very nice to meet you. I am Hiro Nakamura," said Hiro, shaking his hand. "This is Ando Masahashi. We are from Tokyo."
Tick, tick goes his heart, and the monitor replies in the quiet room, beep, beep.
"When you're a kid, you think it's about savin' the world. When you grow up, you think it's about savin' yourself. Neither one seems real, anyway. Can't get your head around it. You think that nothing you do really has consequences. Until suddenly, one day, it does."
"This isn't his fault," Bennett said. "He warned me, didn't you, Claude."
"Soul-mate?" "Like, person you're meant to be with." "Like Ando!"
Claude was sprawled out against the stairs, his head crooked to one side and his eyes shut. Blood dripped from a gash in his scalp.
Chapter Eight
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I got to Isaac's painting and sprayed my drink, I'll have you know.
This is ridiculously awesome. *sigh* I need to start separating you from canon, don't I. Eh, that can wait a few more weeks.
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Also, now I'm all worried about Claude.
And Jack is adorable, oh yes he is.
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Have you seen the show yet, or are you totally skimming for Claude? (Which is what I would do if I hadn't, I won't lie...)
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HEE.
re: Everything else
AWESOME. As always. I am a little confused as to what Claude was doing in Jessica's hotel room. Following Nathan? Speaking of which, Hiro and Ando's quick lesson on polling brought up a lot of election season memories for me. Ah, canvassing. I'm also more than a little amused by Bennet thinking of poor Matt as a big baby. And your previews are KILLING ME. Ack.
-blue
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Also, "Soul-mate?"..."Like Ando!" Bwa.
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LMFAO!!!
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(Anonymous) 2007-03-30 12:39 am (UTC)(link)I don't know what Claude's up to with the sneakiness, but I wouldn't blame him if the sole reason was voyeurism :P
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WELL I NEVER!
*snicker*
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I can't wait until Jack and Hiro and Ando meet. After all, Jack knows about them and Hiro and Ando know that someone took their car from Isaac's paintings!
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"Soul-mate?" "Like, person you're meant to be with." "Like Ando!"
And that's not my thing, but I can appreciate a good joke regardless. :D You really can't resist putting in these little tiny references, can you? Of course, one could make the argument that you're no worse than canon...
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As for Peter calling his name -- well, that's Claude more than me :D I'm not sure if the implication came through, but what I was trying to show with the little Claude-Jessica scene was that Claude was faking Peter's voice, because he knew Nathan would come running if he thought Peter was in trouble.
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"I thought I was alone," Mikey said, staring down at the gum wrapper.
"Everybody does," Jack replied.
I LOVE JACK. I want to give him big squooshy hugs and ruffle his hair or something. So much love for him!
And Issac's painting! I burst out laughing. That was an awesome HP joke. There's so many touches in this episode that I love. I think it's my favorite one so far. :)
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I have so much fun with Jack. Sometimes he's such a dumbass (which is fun) and then he'll bust out with something like that, which is even more fun. I wish I was as cool as him when I was seventeen.
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And man, wait till he meets Nathan.
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Claude was kind of creepy. Jack was awesome as ever. Isaac was not infuriating for once (Just this once. I still don't forgive him.) Claire was incestilicious. Nathan was slimy but with a heart of gold. And Peter is just a step away from tricking Nathan into an "Is too! Is not!...I'm telling Mom!" sibling showdown.
Much love!
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The fact that you used the new HP DH cover for art work. I started laughing at that one.
~will attempt to wait patiently for the next part~
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Also, lovin' Jack, and the soul-mate bit in the preview.
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Also, what's up with the hat fixation?
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As for Claude, he was following Nathan, but I leave it up to the reader to decide who he enjoyed watching more...
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Dude! I LOVE Jack. Seriously.
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(Anonymous) - 2007-03-31 10:21 (UTC) - Expandno subject
HATS!
The book cover made me snort.
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AHAHAHA HP cover.
"Soul-mate?" "Like, person you're meant to be with." "Like Ando!"
Awwwww!! I love Hiro and Ando. Soooo cute.
Claude?? No, no, you're not allowed to kill him, plzkthx. *worries*
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Anyway, onto the next few chapters; will give a better review at the end.
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