sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:40 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:40 am
Entry tags:
The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Ten
Title: The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Ten: Hirou
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Hana has goals, Bennett has a name, Nathan has a fight, Peter has a fight, Claude has a fight, and Jack has a tattoo.
Notes: Thanks and credit to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
utility_knife for Isaac's paintings; doesn't wee-punky-Peter look awesome? if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 4.5.07
TED SPRAGUE AND HANA GITELMAN - UPSTATE NEW YORK
When Ted woke again his mind was clearer, just clear enough for an inkling of panic about where he was and why.
"It's all right," Hana said, leaning over him. "You're safe, remember?"
He thought for a minute, then sighed with relief. "Buffalo, right?'
She smiled. "That's right. How do you feel?"
"Clearer."
"I'm taking you down to low doses. If you can keep your head, you'll be off altogether by tomorrow."
"Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome. Are you hungry?"
He nodded, pushing himself upright on the bed. There was a kitchen counter nearby -- wherever they were was pretty tiny -- and Hana went to a bowl on the counter, taking out some cellophane-wrapped objects and setting them on the bed.
"I'm not a cook," she said, by way of explanation. He picked up the protein bars and unwrapped one, devouring it. "I couldn't get much information out of Primatech, in Texas; did you manage?"
"Bennett said he didn't do this to us," Ted said. Her small apartment was filled with electronic equipment, some of it obviously home-modified. There were at least three melted-looking wireless modems, and some kind of odd contraption at the desk, a pair of straps, one with an ethernet cord attached to it and the other with a mouse cable.
"Do you believe him?" Hana asked.
"I don't know."
"Ignorance is a beginning," she sighed.
"I don't know what to do," he continued, feeling distantly sad. "I don't know what they did to me."
"It's all right," she replied. "Leave it to me. I know what to do."
"What's that?" he asked.
"Kill them all."
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
"His name is Jack Baker," Bennett said, holding on while Parkman steered expertly through New York City traffic. "He's traveling with two Japanese men -- they might be from a sector of Primatech in Japan. I didn't get their names. Jesus look out -- "
"Will you stop freaking out?" Parkman barked, narrowly avoiding death by public bus. "I've been driving in LA for years, I know what I'm doing."
The Versa jerked to the right and Parkman followed it; then it turned left across two lanes of traffic and Parkman swore, whipping the car back into the left lane.
"Are they really bad drivers or do they know we're following them?" he asked.
"Just keep with them," Bennett ordered. "You've got the license plate?"
"I'm a cop, Bennett."
"You were."
Bennett saw his sting hit home; served Parkman right for that crack about Bennett's job earlier. Then they swerved suddenly, and he regretted taunting the other man.
"Blue Nissan Versa, blond teen male driving, two passengers, mid-twenties, black hair, Asian," Parkman rattled off. He tossed a slip of paper to Bennett, with the licence plates for the Versa written on it.
"If these men are from Yamagato, it's vital we find Claire before they do," Bennett continued. "If they know she's alive they'll take her in."
"Like you did to me," Parkman said. Bennett gripped the dashboard as they slid around a truck and back in with inches to spare.
"I was serving the common good," Bennett replied.
"By abducting me, getting me in trouble with my wife -- "
"Oh come on," Bennett replied. "So you had a fight with your wife. I'm talking about not letting dangerous people like Ted Sprague loose on society to kill their wives."
"But you let him go, the first time you brought him in."
"We couldn't see that he was showing any power. He manifested after we'd already dealt with him."
The Versa, ahead of them, pulled sharply down a side street. Parkman followed, cutting off a taxi, and then rolled to a stop, confused.
The street was quiet, not much more than an alley, and it dead-ended in a tight circular turnaround. The Versa was gone.
"Dammit!" Parkman pounded on the steering wheel. "How did they do that?"
***
JACK, ANDO, AND HIRO - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
When Hiro told him to turn left, Jack knew they were going the wrong way. He turned anyway, because he trusted Hiro -- how could anyone not trust Hiro? -- and because Hiro's grip on his shoulder told Jack that this was a man with a plan.
As soon as he turned into the side-street, there was an odd, muted noise, like a fingersnap. Jack didn't pay much attention, however, because they were in a dead-end. He thought he could probably pull over the Versa and make a run for it on foot from whoever was following them, but instead Hiro said "Stop the car."
Jack obediently braked. Then he looked at Ando, in the seat next to him. Then he screamed a little.
Ando was frozen, completely stiff and still, one hand raised to cover his eyes, the other gripping the seat arm tightly. His eyes themselves were wide open, and his mouth open just a little, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.
"It is groovy," Hiro said. "I freeze time."
Jack turned around and saw, past Hiro, the frozen cars at the mouth of the street. There was even a dude on the sidewalk with his dog, the dog's leg lifted, and the pee was hanging in midair.
"We turn around," Hiro said soothingly. "We drive away. Then I unfreeze time. Per-fect getaway."
Jack swallowed, slowly easing his foot off the brake and circling the turnaround. He pulled through traffic at an angle, carefully, and eased the Versa slowly through the red light at the intersection.
"If you start time again while I'm in traffic, we're so gonna get killed," he said. "Just lemme find a parking space, okay?"
Hiro laughed, and Jack realised how funny it really was -- the time-traveler stopped time just long enough for the guy who knows where everything is to find a parking spot.
"Can you find the cheerleader?" Hiro asked.
"I...I know the general kinda direction," Jack said. "Greenwich village. You think we could kind of prowl around until I see it?"
"Big rally this afternoon, for Mr. Petrelli," Hiro said. "We look for a while, then go to the rally. Okay?"
"Okay," Jack agreed. He'd had about enough excitement for one day, really. "You know, I really think I need something like your sword. Something to focus me, you know?"
"It is very special," Hiro said. "It belonged to a hero."
"Still does," Jack answered. "Kinda impractical sometimes, though. I don't know, it's not like I really have some kind of dramatic cultural history to draw on, you know? I'm a white kid from the burbs."
"Burbs?"
"Suburbs. Boringsville," Jack added. "When kids my age want to feel unique they just go get a tattoo or something."
Then he paused. Hiro looked at him inquiringly.
"Hey, Hiro," he said. "Do you think you could write something in Kanji for me?"
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
PETER PETRELLI - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
Peter half-expected that Claude would show up for the rally that afternoon; it would be typical of him, if anything was typical of Claude. Though come to think of it, seeing that their workout lasted until two in the morning, it would be more typical of Claude to sleep the hell through it.
He had to go, of course, because Nathan was embarking on a new My Brother Is Not A Nut Job phase of his campaign, and it was good for Peter to be seen publicly, healthy, and apparently sane.
Nathan had trotted out the whole family for the occasion -- Heidi, up onstage next to Nathan's top aides, and the boys down in the front row, sandwiched between Uncle Peter and Grandma. It was the first time Heidi had been at a rally; apparently Nathan was pulling out all the big guns for the last few days before the election. He was still trailing by two points.
Nathan was talking about unions or something, Peter really couldn't keep track of all the stuff he was supposed to be for or against. He busied himself making sure the boys didn't disrupt anything, and besides Nathan loved it when the reporters took pictures of him or his mom with the kids. Made them look like a caring happy family or something.
Peter wished, really, that he was anywhere but here -- at the safehouse with Claire, at the factory with Claude, even on the rooftop of the Deveaux building, alone, looking through the decorative oval at the city.
He reached over and pulled one of his nephews onto his lap to stop the kid from fidgeting, just as there was a rustling noise behind him. He turned around to see Hiro and Ando seating themselves in the second row, near enough that Hiro could lean over Peter's shoulder and whisper in his ear.
"Sorry we are late," he said.
"It's cool, I don't think Nathan noticed," Peter whispered back, jerking his chin at Nathan. His brother was speaking on, oblivious, really getting into the swing of things now.
"We have new quest," Hiro said. "Made a new friend, Jack Bakeru."
"Yeah? Where's your sword?"
"Left with him. Very safe there," Hiro added.
"Sure."
"How is Mr. Mohinder?"
"No change."
Mom leaned across the seats and shushed Peter, gesturing at Nathan. Hiro made a hilariously apologetic face and sat back immediately. Peter sighed. There must be something better to do than listen to Nathan.
Cautiously, hesitantly, he thought about the cop he'd met in Texas, the one who could read minds. It was just practice, he told himself, practice in control. And there was a soft murmuring on the edge of his thoughts, rising slightly when he focused on it -- of course. Hiro, thinking in Japanese.
He shifted his focus and nearly flinched; his nephew's thoughts, about how boredboredbored he was, nearly smacked him in the face. Apparently Mom had promised his nephews that Peter would take them out for ice cream afterwards, which she had neglected to warn him about. Nice, Ma.
Mom's thoughts were much more complicated, hard to comprehend. She was worried, worried about a lot -- Peter, Heidi, Claire, worried about where the Haitian had gone. And about Nathan. Such a dangerous job, politics. What if someone shot him some day, like they did poor Moscone in '78? Nathan wasn't bulletproof and oh god what was he doing?
Peter looked up at Nathan, refocusing on the speech just in time for him to hear Nathan say "Solid Union values for a solid Union town."
Oh.
There was going to be shouting later.
***
JACK BAKER - PINS AND NEEDLES TATTOO PARLOR - LOWER MANHATTAN
"So, what do you think?" Mel asked, cocking one leg up onto the chair and chewing on a bite of apple. She nodded her head at the blond boy standing at the front of the shop.
"Somethin' Japanese," Pins replied. He pulled at a piercing thoughtfully. "Bet you five bucks."
"Nah. I bet you he gets somethin' tribal," Mel replied. Pins jumped down off his chair and walked to the counter, where the boy was studying their photo book.
"Thinkin' of gettin' a tattoo?" he asked.
"Totally," the boy said, engrossed in a full-back portrait of a naked woman wrapped in very revealing veils. "Dude, this is awesome."
"Guess so, if you like naked chicks in places you can't see 'em," Pins replied.
"Well, it's awesome for other people," the kid said. "I'm Jack."
"I'm called Pins. Pleasure's all mine. You got an idea of what you want?"
"Yeah..." Jack dug in his back and came up with a piece of white paper, on which someone had written in Japanese. Pins glanced at Mel, who rolled her eyes and dug in her pocket for five bucks, tucking it in the pocket of his coat.
"You sure you know what this says? We don't give money back if it turns out it means Pretty Princess," Pins said.
"I'm sure," Jack replied, and smiled at Pins so confidently that it took him a moment to recover. "How much to put it here?" he added, indicating the inside of his left wrist.
"Seriously, man, wrists hurt," Pins said. "You sure you want to go that hardcore for your first tatt?"
"I'm sure," Jack answered. "The pain won't be an issue."
Pins didn't know what he meant until he strapped the kid's hand down and started work. He was pretty impressed by how still Jack was holding -- he didn't even grunt or twitch -- until he looked up and saw him staring at the ceiling, eyes rolled back in his head. He looked like he was in some kind of trance or something. His lips moved but he didn't make any noise, and when Pins was done he set the machine down and waited. After a few minutes, the kid blinked and came down from wherever he'd been. He looked at the tattoo, covered in its clear plastic dressing, and grinned.
"Thanks," he said. "That was perfect. Ooh," he added, as he moved his wrist. "You're right, that tingles a little."
Pins, bewildered, let the kid pay and almost let him get out the door before he stopped him.
"Hey," he said, and Jack turned around. "What's that mean, anyway?"
"It's a verb," Jack said. "Find. It's pronounced hirou."
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - THE SAFE HOUSE
"Oh man," Peter said, listening to the shouting coming from the kitchen. "They could be at this for hours."
"Aren't you worried?" Claire asked, curled up in a ball on the couch. She looked frightened, and Peter supposed he shouldn't blame her; Mom and Nathan were really getting into it.
"Well, I kinda would be, except this is like...it's like playing ping-pong, for them," he said. "They never make it personal, you know? It's politics."
"But they're shouting."
"Yeah. Clears the head," Peter replied.
"Oh," Claire said.
"Listen, it's just what we do sometimes. It never goes anywhere. I mean, nobody's going to disown anybody because of it."
"Why's she so mad, anyway? It was a good speech, I listened to the podcast," Claire said.
"Apparently Nathan just came out as a Union candidate," Peter said.
"What's that mean?"
"In politics you have to make sure that everyone likes you, so you're not supposed to take a really strong view of anything unless you can back it up with popularity numbers," Peter said. "The guy running against him has been the Union candidate for years. Nathan's trying to steal his constituency. And it's really risky, because not everyone likes the unions. So if the unions stick with the other guy, Nathan just lost three...maybe four points."
"This is so typical of you, Nathan!" his mother shouted from the other room. "So stubborn!"
"Gee, Ma, I wonder where I get that!" Nathan shouted back. Peter laughed.
"They're winding down now. When they start calling each other names, it'll end soon."
"Are you worried he's going to lose?" Claire asked. Peter glanced back at the kitchen.
"Nathan doesn't take stupid risks," Peter said. "If he did this, he's gotta be pretty confident."
He stood and began reaching for his messenger bag and shoes, tossing his wallet into the bag.
"Going somewhere?" Claire asked.
"Yeah -- more training. I'll be back earlier though, I think. Maybe in time for dinner."
"Wish I could go with you."
Peter looked at her, trying to seem as serious as possible. "It's not safe for you."
"I'm the indestructible girl. What's going to happen?"
"It won't be forever. Promise you that. Just sit tight for now, okay?" Peter said. He started to say that it would make Nathan absolutely nuts if she disappeared, but she didn't need that kind of guilt trip and she didn't seem like she was really considering it. "Seeya later."
He kissed her cheek, ruffled her hair, and left, oddly pleased with the world. Nathan and Mom at each others' throats meant neither of them were worrying about him. Claude, who was a pain in the ass but at least a consistent pain in the ass, was waiting for him. He thought they really were making progress, finally.
He didn't see the slight figure who stood at the window watching him go, and he definitely didn't look back in time to see someone drop from the fifth floor window to the ground.
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - NYC
TEN YEARS AGO
"Heya, Pete."
Peter didn't look up. He didn't have to, and anyway Nathan wasn't expecting it. He kept staring at his magazine, though he wasn't really reading it. He was studying a chip in the fingernail polish on his left thumb.
Springs creaked as Nathan sat on the end of the bed, then leaned back and flopped, arms above head, staring at the ceiling. Peter watched him over the edge of the magazine propped on his knees.
"Man, there are days I miss the Navy," Nathan said, which was kind of a weird non sequitur until he continued. "Everything's so clean-cut in the military. There's procedures for everything."
"Dad told you about our fight," Peter said.
"Mom, actually."
"Did she call you up and have you come all the way out just to -- "
"Shut up a minute, would you?" Nathan said pleasantly. Peter went back to studying his thumbnail. They sat in silence for a while. "I came up to tell everyone that Heidi and I got engaged. Missed your chance with her, Peter," he added with a grin. Peter smiled back, a little.
"Congratulations. Golden son wins again," he said.
"Sorry. Bad timing on my part. So what's up with you and Dad?"
"I think he's going nuts. He's really paranoid, you know."
"He's Dad."
"Yeah, it's just..." Peter shrugged. "He doesn't want me to go out with Vicki any more. Doesn't want me to go to parties. Some of the things he says, it's like he's been following me or something."
"Nobody wants you to go out with Vicki anymore," Nathan pointed out. "I thought that was kinda why you were doing it."
He sat up and turned to face Peter, taking away the magazine and setting it on the side-table. "I'm not here from Dad, Peter. I'm not here from Mom, and I'm not here to punish you or anything, okay? It's just Nathan and Peter."
"Okay," Peter said, shifting uncomfortably. It freaked him out when Nathan acted like a human being.
"You sleeping with Vicki?"
"Yeah."
"You using condoms?"
"I'm not a moron."
Nathan shook his head. "Nobody knows you anymore, Peter, so we have to ask. It's fine, it's just -- I want to know, okay?"
"Fine. Yeah, and Vick's on the pill."
"You doing drugs? Everybody knows she does."
"No."
"Not even pot?"
Peter laughed. "Jesus, Nathan, you sound like a public service announcement."
"Are you?"
Peter shrugged. "I have a beer once in a while. That's it. The drugs creep me out, okay?"
"What does she do?"
"I don't know. Lots of stuff."
"Peter, I'm going to ask you one favor." Nathan looked him in the eye. He looked so serious in his suit and tie and wing-tip shoes; it was hard for Peter to think of Nathan as a lawyer, but he guessed he could get used to it. "I'll jump into this. I know how to smooth it over and I can take the heat better than you can. I'm on your side. But I want you to dump Vicki. Not because I think she's going to make you do anything you don't want to, because for anyone to do that would take some kind of act of God. I want you to dump her because she's going to get in trouble and she's going to drag you down into it with her. You're going to get arrested as an accessory someday, and I don't want to bail you out of jail."
Peter bit his lip.
"I know you're trying to piss Dad off because you're pissed off at him, but you're pissing me off too, and I'm tired of it," Nathan said.
"Sorry," Peter muttered.
"You gonna dump this girl?"
"Guess so."
"You want to annoy Dad, just tell him what you think of him," Nathan said, grinning. "Who knows, maybe you'll make a difference."
"Nathan..." Peter grabbed his arm as he stood to leave. "Hang on."
Nathan looked down at him. "What?"
"Dad..." Peter frowned. "Sometimes I wonder if he's really okay, you know? If he's right, mentally. Sometimes I think he sees things. Things that aren't there."
Nathan patted his shoulder. "Dad's fine, Peter. Let it go. You want to get out of the house more, come down and stay with us for a weekend, clear your head."
"Sure," Peter said, frowning. He could do this. "Okay."
"I'll go make things right with Dad."
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
PETER PETRELLI AND CLAUDE RAINS - KEMP'S BAKED GOODS
"Tryin' something different today," Claude said, setting two chairs in the middle of the floor. He gestured Peter into one of them and turned the other around backwards, resting his arms on the back of the chair as he sat. Peter waited impatiently for what was going to happen next.
"Calm down, nobody's hitting anyone tonight," Claude said, and Peter forced himself to stop fidgeting. "You've come as far as you will without us workin' on your mind a bit more. Isn't going to be pleasant for either of us."
"I thought I was doing okay," Peter said.
"Okay enough to be a danger to me, and I don't heal like you do. Not as young as you, either," Claude added. There were butterfly bandages on the wound on his head; Peter wondered if he'd done them himself or gone to an emergency room.
"Why don't you?" Peter asked. "Heal, I mean. You're an Empath, you can pick it up from me. You could heal if you wanted, right?"
"Doesn't work that way for me," Claude answered.
"How does it work, then?"
"D'you want my life's story or d'you want to keep from blowing up New York?" Claude asked, annoyed. Peter ducked his head. "You need to learn to control your reactions up here," he said, tapping his own head. "I don't care how, it's just got to be done."
"You did it by running away," Peter said.
"Why're you so obsessed with me?" Claude asked. "I've told you before. I'm nobody."
"You're the only other Empath I've ever met," Peter said.
"You've met that Sylar bloke."
"He's not like us," Peter hissed.
"Why, because he's a killer? You don't know I'm not," Claude pointed out. "We aren't an us, Petrelli."
"Just tell me how you do it. There has to be more than simply not ever talking to people. You can't have spent your whole life living in abandoned factories."
He saw Claude's nostrils flare and knew he'd hit home. Claude hadn't realised that Peter knew he lived here.
"We're not the same," Claude insisted. "It doesn't work in the same way. You're asking how I'd make apple juice out of oranges."
"You're my teacher," Peter said. "Teach me."
"You're my student. Shut up so I can."
"If you can stop yourself from taking my power, you can teach me how," Peter said stubbornly. Claude gave him a long, measured look.
"Don't get airs," he said, "But you're the highest-level sensitive I've ever come across. Probably the highest anyone's ever been. My generation, the first generation as far as anyone knows, we're not as powerful even as the weaker young'uns are. The mutation breeds true. You just prance through life, pickin' up power, no clue what to do with it. I've got to sing for my supper, boy."
"What does that mean?"
"See one, do one, teach one," Claude replied. "You want to know why it's important to me, this? Teaching? I have to learn power. And to do that I have to teach."
Peter studied him. He hadn't known Claude long, but he realised that this was the most vulnerable the man had been in a long time -- years, perhaps decades. This was a secret that no-one else knew.
"I learned dampening from an old student. Two Empaths, pickin' up on each other, that's playing with fire. Sets up links neither of us want to have. That's how I control what you take from me, and what I take from you. Or would, eventually."
"Can you teach me that?" Peter asked. "Dampening?"
"We'll find out, won't we?"
"Is that why we're here?"
"You're not going to master it in a week. If you survive this, I'll give you a pat on the head and a biscuit and we'll see, eh?" Claude said. "Have I answered all your questions or shall we just go on as we have and in a few days New York will be a radioactive wasteland?"
"Fine," Peter leaned back and crossed his arms. Claude rubbed his forehead, clearly annoyed.
"You don't want to do the easy way and cut your leash, fine," he said. "If your thoughts trigger your powers, then you've got to learn to control your thoughts. You can't react on impulse anymore. You haven't got that option. And you're far too fond of doing it anyway."
Peter bridled at this...then immediately saw what Claude meant. Claude smiled.
"You see?" he said.
"All right, I'm trying," Peter muttered.
"Do more than try. What do I matter to you? Why d'you care what I think? Because I'm another Empath? Because you care what everyone thinks? Who do you think you're goin' to impress?"
Peter bit his lip, trying to sort out the immediate reactions he had to each of the questions. He found himself thinking of his father, without knowing why.
Something flickered behind Claude, and Peter looked up.
He jerked back with a yelp almost before he knew what was happening; standing behind Claude was a figure half-shadowed, flickering as though it were a cheap movie projection. He recognised the face -- those glasses --
The chair tipped over backwards and Peter sprawled on the ground, cracking his head on the cement. He saw stars for a second, thought of Claire, and felt them fade as he pushed himself onto his elbows.
Claude was staring down at him, perplexity on his face, doing nothing to help. Peter pointed over his shoulder, where the man had been.
"Someone was here," he whispered. Claude looked behind him. "Claire's father."
That was enough to get a reaction from Claude, who stood so fast his own chair fell over. Peter actually felt Claude reach out mentally, and realised he was searching for -- what, intruders? Enemies?
Peter picked himself up while Claude was still eyeing the room warily. Before Claude turned, he felt a touch -- a probe -- in his mind.
"He wasn't here," Claude said finally, picking up his chair. "You hallucinated."
"Why the hell would I -- "
"What did your father do?" Claude barked. Peter knit his brows.
"He...was a lawyer?" he said.
"Do," Claude said. "What did he do. Like you."
"You...what?" Peter asked. "Dad..."
He remembered what Nathan had said about Dad's mental illness. If it were true...
"Let me try something," he said. "Just stay there."
He closed his eyes and thought about his father, really thought about him, for the first time since the funeral. He thought about the really big fight they'd had when he was sixteen and dad started being uptight about Vicki, about Peter going out to parties --
When he opened his eyes, the flickering, half-there image was back; a ghostly Mr. Bennett, Claire's father, was standing just behind and to the left of Claude, face visible over Claude's shoulder. As Peter watched, he reached forward and grasped Claude's arm.
"What do you see, Peter?" Claude asked, his voice low and careful.
"What does Claire Bennett's father have to do with you?" Peter asked, in the same tone of voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his concentration fade. Mr. Bennett disappeared -- as did something Peter hadn't even noticed: a pistol in a shoulder-holster, under Claude's left arm.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, moving forward. Claude stood his ground. "You know who she is, don't you. Is that why you're still here?"
"What the fuck are you on about?" Claude asked.
"You stay away from Claire -- "
"Me?" Claude asked, shoving Peter backwards when he came too close. "You want me to stay away from her? I was reading her bedtime stories when you were still in short-pants, Peter Pan."
Peter was about to spring for Claude, even knowing that he would get his ass kicked, when he heard a gasp from the stairwell. Both of them turned, and this time Peter knew it wasn't some hallucination.
Claire stood on the landing, staring at both of them, her eyes wide as saucers.
Next time, on Heroes ("Four Breakfasts and Jack's Funeral"):
"Yes," he said. "I worked for them. I don't anymore. Now you know why."
After all, every kid should know how the democratic system worked.
"Every time he tried to explain about this, he said it was complicated. You're the complicated guy." "Yeah, well, he wasn't exactly lyin', was he?"
Peter swallowed suddenly and looked as if he'd lost his appetite. "If you didn't know what was going on, that'd be more than enough to make a person want to kill themselves. Don't you think?"
"Mr. Petrelli," the young man said, "there's a report on CNN.com you should see, when you get a minute."
It wasn't pervy, she'd decided; it was aesthetic appreciation.
There was a certain romantic-comedy cachet to "Hi, I'm your soulmate", but maybe he should open with something more mellow, like helping her find her wallet or something.
Chapter Eleven
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Hana has goals, Bennett has a name, Nathan has a fight, Peter has a fight, Claude has a fight, and Jack has a tattoo.
Notes: Thanks and credit to
utility_knife for Isaac's paintings; doesn't wee-punky-Peter look awesome? if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com. Originally posted 4.5.07
TED SPRAGUE AND HANA GITELMAN - UPSTATE NEW YORK
When Ted woke again his mind was clearer, just clear enough for an inkling of panic about where he was and why.
"It's all right," Hana said, leaning over him. "You're safe, remember?"
He thought for a minute, then sighed with relief. "Buffalo, right?'
She smiled. "That's right. How do you feel?"
"Clearer."
"I'm taking you down to low doses. If you can keep your head, you'll be off altogether by tomorrow."
"Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome. Are you hungry?"
He nodded, pushing himself upright on the bed. There was a kitchen counter nearby -- wherever they were was pretty tiny -- and Hana went to a bowl on the counter, taking out some cellophane-wrapped objects and setting them on the bed.
"I'm not a cook," she said, by way of explanation. He picked up the protein bars and unwrapped one, devouring it. "I couldn't get much information out of Primatech, in Texas; did you manage?"
"Bennett said he didn't do this to us," Ted said. Her small apartment was filled with electronic equipment, some of it obviously home-modified. There were at least three melted-looking wireless modems, and some kind of odd contraption at the desk, a pair of straps, one with an ethernet cord attached to it and the other with a mouse cable.
"Do you believe him?" Hana asked.
"I don't know."
"Ignorance is a beginning," she sighed.
"I don't know what to do," he continued, feeling distantly sad. "I don't know what they did to me."
"It's all right," she replied. "Leave it to me. I know what to do."
"What's that?" he asked.
"Kill them all."
***
MATT PARKMAN AND MR. BENNETT - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
"His name is Jack Baker," Bennett said, holding on while Parkman steered expertly through New York City traffic. "He's traveling with two Japanese men -- they might be from a sector of Primatech in Japan. I didn't get their names. Jesus look out -- "
"Will you stop freaking out?" Parkman barked, narrowly avoiding death by public bus. "I've been driving in LA for years, I know what I'm doing."
The Versa jerked to the right and Parkman followed it; then it turned left across two lanes of traffic and Parkman swore, whipping the car back into the left lane.
"Are they really bad drivers or do they know we're following them?" he asked.
"Just keep with them," Bennett ordered. "You've got the license plate?"
"I'm a cop, Bennett."
"You were."
Bennett saw his sting hit home; served Parkman right for that crack about Bennett's job earlier. Then they swerved suddenly, and he regretted taunting the other man.
"Blue Nissan Versa, blond teen male driving, two passengers, mid-twenties, black hair, Asian," Parkman rattled off. He tossed a slip of paper to Bennett, with the licence plates for the Versa written on it.
"If these men are from Yamagato, it's vital we find Claire before they do," Bennett continued. "If they know she's alive they'll take her in."
"Like you did to me," Parkman said. Bennett gripped the dashboard as they slid around a truck and back in with inches to spare.
"I was serving the common good," Bennett replied.
"By abducting me, getting me in trouble with my wife -- "
"Oh come on," Bennett replied. "So you had a fight with your wife. I'm talking about not letting dangerous people like Ted Sprague loose on society to kill their wives."
"But you let him go, the first time you brought him in."
"We couldn't see that he was showing any power. He manifested after we'd already dealt with him."
The Versa, ahead of them, pulled sharply down a side street. Parkman followed, cutting off a taxi, and then rolled to a stop, confused.
The street was quiet, not much more than an alley, and it dead-ended in a tight circular turnaround. The Versa was gone.
"Dammit!" Parkman pounded on the steering wheel. "How did they do that?"
***
JACK, ANDO, AND HIRO - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
When Hiro told him to turn left, Jack knew they were going the wrong way. He turned anyway, because he trusted Hiro -- how could anyone not trust Hiro? -- and because Hiro's grip on his shoulder told Jack that this was a man with a plan.
As soon as he turned into the side-street, there was an odd, muted noise, like a fingersnap. Jack didn't pay much attention, however, because they were in a dead-end. He thought he could probably pull over the Versa and make a run for it on foot from whoever was following them, but instead Hiro said "Stop the car."
Jack obediently braked. Then he looked at Ando, in the seat next to him. Then he screamed a little.
Ando was frozen, completely stiff and still, one hand raised to cover his eyes, the other gripping the seat arm tightly. His eyes themselves were wide open, and his mouth open just a little, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.
"It is groovy," Hiro said. "I freeze time."
Jack turned around and saw, past Hiro, the frozen cars at the mouth of the street. There was even a dude on the sidewalk with his dog, the dog's leg lifted, and the pee was hanging in midair.
"We turn around," Hiro said soothingly. "We drive away. Then I unfreeze time. Per-fect getaway."
Jack swallowed, slowly easing his foot off the brake and circling the turnaround. He pulled through traffic at an angle, carefully, and eased the Versa slowly through the red light at the intersection.
"If you start time again while I'm in traffic, we're so gonna get killed," he said. "Just lemme find a parking space, okay?"
Hiro laughed, and Jack realised how funny it really was -- the time-traveler stopped time just long enough for the guy who knows where everything is to find a parking spot.
"Can you find the cheerleader?" Hiro asked.
"I...I know the general kinda direction," Jack said. "Greenwich village. You think we could kind of prowl around until I see it?"
"Big rally this afternoon, for Mr. Petrelli," Hiro said. "We look for a while, then go to the rally. Okay?"
"Okay," Jack agreed. He'd had about enough excitement for one day, really. "You know, I really think I need something like your sword. Something to focus me, you know?"
"It is very special," Hiro said. "It belonged to a hero."
"Still does," Jack answered. "Kinda impractical sometimes, though. I don't know, it's not like I really have some kind of dramatic cultural history to draw on, you know? I'm a white kid from the burbs."
"Burbs?"
"Suburbs. Boringsville," Jack added. "When kids my age want to feel unique they just go get a tattoo or something."
Then he paused. Hiro looked at him inquiringly.
"Hey, Hiro," he said. "Do you think you could write something in Kanji for me?"
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
PETER PETRELLI - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
Peter half-expected that Claude would show up for the rally that afternoon; it would be typical of him, if anything was typical of Claude. Though come to think of it, seeing that their workout lasted until two in the morning, it would be more typical of Claude to sleep the hell through it.
He had to go, of course, because Nathan was embarking on a new My Brother Is Not A Nut Job phase of his campaign, and it was good for Peter to be seen publicly, healthy, and apparently sane.
Nathan had trotted out the whole family for the occasion -- Heidi, up onstage next to Nathan's top aides, and the boys down in the front row, sandwiched between Uncle Peter and Grandma. It was the first time Heidi had been at a rally; apparently Nathan was pulling out all the big guns for the last few days before the election. He was still trailing by two points.
Nathan was talking about unions or something, Peter really couldn't keep track of all the stuff he was supposed to be for or against. He busied himself making sure the boys didn't disrupt anything, and besides Nathan loved it when the reporters took pictures of him or his mom with the kids. Made them look like a caring happy family or something.
Peter wished, really, that he was anywhere but here -- at the safehouse with Claire, at the factory with Claude, even on the rooftop of the Deveaux building, alone, looking through the decorative oval at the city.
He reached over and pulled one of his nephews onto his lap to stop the kid from fidgeting, just as there was a rustling noise behind him. He turned around to see Hiro and Ando seating themselves in the second row, near enough that Hiro could lean over Peter's shoulder and whisper in his ear.
"Sorry we are late," he said.
"It's cool, I don't think Nathan noticed," Peter whispered back, jerking his chin at Nathan. His brother was speaking on, oblivious, really getting into the swing of things now.
"We have new quest," Hiro said. "Made a new friend, Jack Bakeru."
"Yeah? Where's your sword?"
"Left with him. Very safe there," Hiro added.
"Sure."
"How is Mr. Mohinder?"
"No change."
Mom leaned across the seats and shushed Peter, gesturing at Nathan. Hiro made a hilariously apologetic face and sat back immediately. Peter sighed. There must be something better to do than listen to Nathan.
Cautiously, hesitantly, he thought about the cop he'd met in Texas, the one who could read minds. It was just practice, he told himself, practice in control. And there was a soft murmuring on the edge of his thoughts, rising slightly when he focused on it -- of course. Hiro, thinking in Japanese.
He shifted his focus and nearly flinched; his nephew's thoughts, about how boredboredbored he was, nearly smacked him in the face. Apparently Mom had promised his nephews that Peter would take them out for ice cream afterwards, which she had neglected to warn him about. Nice, Ma.
Mom's thoughts were much more complicated, hard to comprehend. She was worried, worried about a lot -- Peter, Heidi, Claire, worried about where the Haitian had gone. And about Nathan. Such a dangerous job, politics. What if someone shot him some day, like they did poor Moscone in '78? Nathan wasn't bulletproof and oh god what was he doing?
Peter looked up at Nathan, refocusing on the speech just in time for him to hear Nathan say "Solid Union values for a solid Union town."
Oh.
There was going to be shouting later.
***
JACK BAKER - PINS AND NEEDLES TATTOO PARLOR - LOWER MANHATTAN
"So, what do you think?" Mel asked, cocking one leg up onto the chair and chewing on a bite of apple. She nodded her head at the blond boy standing at the front of the shop.
"Somethin' Japanese," Pins replied. He pulled at a piercing thoughtfully. "Bet you five bucks."
"Nah. I bet you he gets somethin' tribal," Mel replied. Pins jumped down off his chair and walked to the counter, where the boy was studying their photo book.
"Thinkin' of gettin' a tattoo?" he asked.
"Totally," the boy said, engrossed in a full-back portrait of a naked woman wrapped in very revealing veils. "Dude, this is awesome."
"Guess so, if you like naked chicks in places you can't see 'em," Pins replied.
"Well, it's awesome for other people," the kid said. "I'm Jack."
"I'm called Pins. Pleasure's all mine. You got an idea of what you want?"
"Yeah..." Jack dug in his back and came up with a piece of white paper, on which someone had written in Japanese. Pins glanced at Mel, who rolled her eyes and dug in her pocket for five bucks, tucking it in the pocket of his coat.
"You sure you know what this says? We don't give money back if it turns out it means Pretty Princess," Pins said.
"I'm sure," Jack replied, and smiled at Pins so confidently that it took him a moment to recover. "How much to put it here?" he added, indicating the inside of his left wrist.
"Seriously, man, wrists hurt," Pins said. "You sure you want to go that hardcore for your first tatt?"
"I'm sure," Jack answered. "The pain won't be an issue."
Pins didn't know what he meant until he strapped the kid's hand down and started work. He was pretty impressed by how still Jack was holding -- he didn't even grunt or twitch -- until he looked up and saw him staring at the ceiling, eyes rolled back in his head. He looked like he was in some kind of trance or something. His lips moved but he didn't make any noise, and when Pins was done he set the machine down and waited. After a few minutes, the kid blinked and came down from wherever he'd been. He looked at the tattoo, covered in its clear plastic dressing, and grinned.
"Thanks," he said. "That was perfect. Ooh," he added, as he moved his wrist. "You're right, that tingles a little."
Pins, bewildered, let the kid pay and almost let him get out the door before he stopped him.
"Hey," he said, and Jack turned around. "What's that mean, anyway?"
"It's a verb," Jack said. "Find. It's pronounced hirou."
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - THE SAFE HOUSE
"Oh man," Peter said, listening to the shouting coming from the kitchen. "They could be at this for hours."
"Aren't you worried?" Claire asked, curled up in a ball on the couch. She looked frightened, and Peter supposed he shouldn't blame her; Mom and Nathan were really getting into it.
"Well, I kinda would be, except this is like...it's like playing ping-pong, for them," he said. "They never make it personal, you know? It's politics."
"But they're shouting."
"Yeah. Clears the head," Peter replied.
"Oh," Claire said.
"Listen, it's just what we do sometimes. It never goes anywhere. I mean, nobody's going to disown anybody because of it."
"Why's she so mad, anyway? It was a good speech, I listened to the podcast," Claire said.
"Apparently Nathan just came out as a Union candidate," Peter said.
"What's that mean?"
"In politics you have to make sure that everyone likes you, so you're not supposed to take a really strong view of anything unless you can back it up with popularity numbers," Peter said. "The guy running against him has been the Union candidate for years. Nathan's trying to steal his constituency. And it's really risky, because not everyone likes the unions. So if the unions stick with the other guy, Nathan just lost three...maybe four points."
"This is so typical of you, Nathan!" his mother shouted from the other room. "So stubborn!"
"Gee, Ma, I wonder where I get that!" Nathan shouted back. Peter laughed.
"They're winding down now. When they start calling each other names, it'll end soon."
"Are you worried he's going to lose?" Claire asked. Peter glanced back at the kitchen.
"Nathan doesn't take stupid risks," Peter said. "If he did this, he's gotta be pretty confident."
He stood and began reaching for his messenger bag and shoes, tossing his wallet into the bag.
"Going somewhere?" Claire asked.
"Yeah -- more training. I'll be back earlier though, I think. Maybe in time for dinner."
"Wish I could go with you."
Peter looked at her, trying to seem as serious as possible. "It's not safe for you."
"I'm the indestructible girl. What's going to happen?"
"It won't be forever. Promise you that. Just sit tight for now, okay?" Peter said. He started to say that it would make Nathan absolutely nuts if she disappeared, but she didn't need that kind of guilt trip and she didn't seem like she was really considering it. "Seeya later."
He kissed her cheek, ruffled her hair, and left, oddly pleased with the world. Nathan and Mom at each others' throats meant neither of them were worrying about him. Claude, who was a pain in the ass but at least a consistent pain in the ass, was waiting for him. He thought they really were making progress, finally.
He didn't see the slight figure who stood at the window watching him go, and he definitely didn't look back in time to see someone drop from the fifth floor window to the ground.
***
THE PETRELLI FAMILY - NYC
TEN YEARS AGO
"Heya, Pete."
Peter didn't look up. He didn't have to, and anyway Nathan wasn't expecting it. He kept staring at his magazine, though he wasn't really reading it. He was studying a chip in the fingernail polish on his left thumb.
Springs creaked as Nathan sat on the end of the bed, then leaned back and flopped, arms above head, staring at the ceiling. Peter watched him over the edge of the magazine propped on his knees.
"Man, there are days I miss the Navy," Nathan said, which was kind of a weird non sequitur until he continued. "Everything's so clean-cut in the military. There's procedures for everything."
"Dad told you about our fight," Peter said.
"Mom, actually."
"Did she call you up and have you come all the way out just to -- "
"Shut up a minute, would you?" Nathan said pleasantly. Peter went back to studying his thumbnail. They sat in silence for a while. "I came up to tell everyone that Heidi and I got engaged. Missed your chance with her, Peter," he added with a grin. Peter smiled back, a little.
"Congratulations. Golden son wins again," he said.
"Sorry. Bad timing on my part. So what's up with you and Dad?"
"I think he's going nuts. He's really paranoid, you know."
"He's Dad."
"Yeah, it's just..." Peter shrugged. "He doesn't want me to go out with Vicki any more. Doesn't want me to go to parties. Some of the things he says, it's like he's been following me or something."
"Nobody wants you to go out with Vicki anymore," Nathan pointed out. "I thought that was kinda why you were doing it."
He sat up and turned to face Peter, taking away the magazine and setting it on the side-table. "I'm not here from Dad, Peter. I'm not here from Mom, and I'm not here to punish you or anything, okay? It's just Nathan and Peter."
"Okay," Peter said, shifting uncomfortably. It freaked him out when Nathan acted like a human being.
"You sleeping with Vicki?"
"Yeah."
"You using condoms?"
"I'm not a moron."
Nathan shook his head. "Nobody knows you anymore, Peter, so we have to ask. It's fine, it's just -- I want to know, okay?"
"Fine. Yeah, and Vick's on the pill."
"You doing drugs? Everybody knows she does."
"No."
"Not even pot?"
Peter laughed. "Jesus, Nathan, you sound like a public service announcement."
"Are you?"
Peter shrugged. "I have a beer once in a while. That's it. The drugs creep me out, okay?"
"What does she do?"
"I don't know. Lots of stuff."
"Peter, I'm going to ask you one favor." Nathan looked him in the eye. He looked so serious in his suit and tie and wing-tip shoes; it was hard for Peter to think of Nathan as a lawyer, but he guessed he could get used to it. "I'll jump into this. I know how to smooth it over and I can take the heat better than you can. I'm on your side. But I want you to dump Vicki. Not because I think she's going to make you do anything you don't want to, because for anyone to do that would take some kind of act of God. I want you to dump her because she's going to get in trouble and she's going to drag you down into it with her. You're going to get arrested as an accessory someday, and I don't want to bail you out of jail."
Peter bit his lip.
"I know you're trying to piss Dad off because you're pissed off at him, but you're pissing me off too, and I'm tired of it," Nathan said.
"Sorry," Peter muttered.
"You gonna dump this girl?"
"Guess so."
"You want to annoy Dad, just tell him what you think of him," Nathan said, grinning. "Who knows, maybe you'll make a difference."
"Nathan..." Peter grabbed his arm as he stood to leave. "Hang on."
Nathan looked down at him. "What?"
"Dad..." Peter frowned. "Sometimes I wonder if he's really okay, you know? If he's right, mentally. Sometimes I think he sees things. Things that aren't there."
Nathan patted his shoulder. "Dad's fine, Peter. Let it go. You want to get out of the house more, come down and stay with us for a weekend, clear your head."
"Sure," Peter said, frowning. He could do this. "Okay."
"I'll go make things right with Dad."
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
PETER PETRELLI AND CLAUDE RAINS - KEMP'S BAKED GOODS
"Tryin' something different today," Claude said, setting two chairs in the middle of the floor. He gestured Peter into one of them and turned the other around backwards, resting his arms on the back of the chair as he sat. Peter waited impatiently for what was going to happen next.
"Calm down, nobody's hitting anyone tonight," Claude said, and Peter forced himself to stop fidgeting. "You've come as far as you will without us workin' on your mind a bit more. Isn't going to be pleasant for either of us."
"I thought I was doing okay," Peter said.
"Okay enough to be a danger to me, and I don't heal like you do. Not as young as you, either," Claude added. There were butterfly bandages on the wound on his head; Peter wondered if he'd done them himself or gone to an emergency room.
"Why don't you?" Peter asked. "Heal, I mean. You're an Empath, you can pick it up from me. You could heal if you wanted, right?"
"Doesn't work that way for me," Claude answered.
"How does it work, then?"
"D'you want my life's story or d'you want to keep from blowing up New York?" Claude asked, annoyed. Peter ducked his head. "You need to learn to control your reactions up here," he said, tapping his own head. "I don't care how, it's just got to be done."
"You did it by running away," Peter said.
"Why're you so obsessed with me?" Claude asked. "I've told you before. I'm nobody."
"You're the only other Empath I've ever met," Peter said.
"You've met that Sylar bloke."
"He's not like us," Peter hissed.
"Why, because he's a killer? You don't know I'm not," Claude pointed out. "We aren't an us, Petrelli."
"Just tell me how you do it. There has to be more than simply not ever talking to people. You can't have spent your whole life living in abandoned factories."
He saw Claude's nostrils flare and knew he'd hit home. Claude hadn't realised that Peter knew he lived here.
"We're not the same," Claude insisted. "It doesn't work in the same way. You're asking how I'd make apple juice out of oranges."
"You're my teacher," Peter said. "Teach me."
"You're my student. Shut up so I can."
"If you can stop yourself from taking my power, you can teach me how," Peter said stubbornly. Claude gave him a long, measured look.
"Don't get airs," he said, "But you're the highest-level sensitive I've ever come across. Probably the highest anyone's ever been. My generation, the first generation as far as anyone knows, we're not as powerful even as the weaker young'uns are. The mutation breeds true. You just prance through life, pickin' up power, no clue what to do with it. I've got to sing for my supper, boy."
"What does that mean?"
"See one, do one, teach one," Claude replied. "You want to know why it's important to me, this? Teaching? I have to learn power. And to do that I have to teach."
Peter studied him. He hadn't known Claude long, but he realised that this was the most vulnerable the man had been in a long time -- years, perhaps decades. This was a secret that no-one else knew.
"I learned dampening from an old student. Two Empaths, pickin' up on each other, that's playing with fire. Sets up links neither of us want to have. That's how I control what you take from me, and what I take from you. Or would, eventually."
"Can you teach me that?" Peter asked. "Dampening?"
"We'll find out, won't we?"
"Is that why we're here?"
"You're not going to master it in a week. If you survive this, I'll give you a pat on the head and a biscuit and we'll see, eh?" Claude said. "Have I answered all your questions or shall we just go on as we have and in a few days New York will be a radioactive wasteland?"
"Fine," Peter leaned back and crossed his arms. Claude rubbed his forehead, clearly annoyed.
"You don't want to do the easy way and cut your leash, fine," he said. "If your thoughts trigger your powers, then you've got to learn to control your thoughts. You can't react on impulse anymore. You haven't got that option. And you're far too fond of doing it anyway."
Peter bridled at this...then immediately saw what Claude meant. Claude smiled.
"You see?" he said.
"All right, I'm trying," Peter muttered.
"Do more than try. What do I matter to you? Why d'you care what I think? Because I'm another Empath? Because you care what everyone thinks? Who do you think you're goin' to impress?"
Peter bit his lip, trying to sort out the immediate reactions he had to each of the questions. He found himself thinking of his father, without knowing why.
Something flickered behind Claude, and Peter looked up.
He jerked back with a yelp almost before he knew what was happening; standing behind Claude was a figure half-shadowed, flickering as though it were a cheap movie projection. He recognised the face -- those glasses --
The chair tipped over backwards and Peter sprawled on the ground, cracking his head on the cement. He saw stars for a second, thought of Claire, and felt them fade as he pushed himself onto his elbows.
Claude was staring down at him, perplexity on his face, doing nothing to help. Peter pointed over his shoulder, where the man had been.
"Someone was here," he whispered. Claude looked behind him. "Claire's father."
That was enough to get a reaction from Claude, who stood so fast his own chair fell over. Peter actually felt Claude reach out mentally, and realised he was searching for -- what, intruders? Enemies?
Peter picked himself up while Claude was still eyeing the room warily. Before Claude turned, he felt a touch -- a probe -- in his mind.
"He wasn't here," Claude said finally, picking up his chair. "You hallucinated."
"Why the hell would I -- "
"What did your father do?" Claude barked. Peter knit his brows.
"He...was a lawyer?" he said.
"Do," Claude said. "What did he do. Like you."
"You...what?" Peter asked. "Dad..."
He remembered what Nathan had said about Dad's mental illness. If it were true...
"Let me try something," he said. "Just stay there."
He closed his eyes and thought about his father, really thought about him, for the first time since the funeral. He thought about the really big fight they'd had when he was sixteen and dad started being uptight about Vicki, about Peter going out to parties --
When he opened his eyes, the flickering, half-there image was back; a ghostly Mr. Bennett, Claire's father, was standing just behind and to the left of Claude, face visible over Claude's shoulder. As Peter watched, he reached forward and grasped Claude's arm.
"What do you see, Peter?" Claude asked, his voice low and careful.
"What does Claire Bennett's father have to do with you?" Peter asked, in the same tone of voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his concentration fade. Mr. Bennett disappeared -- as did something Peter hadn't even noticed: a pistol in a shoulder-holster, under Claude's left arm.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, moving forward. Claude stood his ground. "You know who she is, don't you. Is that why you're still here?"
"What the fuck are you on about?" Claude asked.
"You stay away from Claire -- "
"Me?" Claude asked, shoving Peter backwards when he came too close. "You want me to stay away from her? I was reading her bedtime stories when you were still in short-pants, Peter Pan."
Peter was about to spring for Claude, even knowing that he would get his ass kicked, when he heard a gasp from the stairwell. Both of them turned, and this time Peter knew it wasn't some hallucination.
Claire stood on the landing, staring at both of them, her eyes wide as saucers.
Next time, on Heroes ("Four Breakfasts and Jack's Funeral"):
"Yes," he said. "I worked for them. I don't anymore. Now you know why."
After all, every kid should know how the democratic system worked.
"Every time he tried to explain about this, he said it was complicated. You're the complicated guy." "Yeah, well, he wasn't exactly lyin', was he?"
Peter swallowed suddenly and looked as if he'd lost his appetite. "If you didn't know what was going on, that'd be more than enough to make a person want to kill themselves. Don't you think?"
"Mr. Petrelli," the young man said, "there's a report on CNN.com you should see, when you get a minute."
It wasn't pervy, she'd decided; it was aesthetic appreciation.
There was a certain romantic-comedy cachet to "Hi, I'm your soulmate", but maybe he should open with something more mellow, like helping her find her wallet or something.
Chapter Eleven
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This I can't wait for. I love Jack. *hugs Jack*
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Just so you know, when I heard how to pronounce Jack's tattoo, I actually gasped out loud, followed by telling you you rocked all the socks off the damn house. And so does Jack. (And the tattoo artists and their betting are just highly amusing.)
Nasty cliffhanger! But I'm veryvery intrigued by Peter's dad's power.
The Petrelli family dynamics make me smile--especially when he thought "there's going to be shouting."
Claude breaks my heart.
I totally forgot that Bennet doesn't know about Hiro and Ando, which is...oh, wow. Hiro's dad must know, so...jeez, implications much?
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As for Claude...just you wait a few chapters. I am having so much fun with him....
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At this point, all I can say is that there should be scouts browsing through Heroes fanfiction and they should find you and hire you, because you deserve it so much for this fic. Honestly.
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I wish they would come and hire me, I'd make an awesome writer and I could keep their calendar straight!
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There was going to be shouting later.
Oh, Peter, never grow up. Actually, come to think of it, his name keeps getting more and more appropriate.
"It's a verb," Jack said. "Find. It's pronounced hirou."
And it even looks like "hero". How are you so awesome?
He was studying a chip in the fingernail polish on his left thumb.
Nail polish!
Cliffhanger! *bites nails*
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Don't ask me about how I'm so awesome, ask the Japanese how they are so awesome! I swear when I saw that Hirou was one verb meaning "to find", I ran off and babbled at my betas. Who, quite wisely, patted me on the head and rolled their eyes at each other. :D
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Of course he was. Oh,
PoodlePeter.-blue
P.S. I think "non sequiter" is actually spelled "non sequitur".
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Claude called him Peter Pan! This makes me giggly.
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Ahem.
Love for...
Jack and his kanji
Claire and her following
Claude and his Claude-ness
Peter starting to put things together
Hiro. In general.
La familia Petrelli
Parkman knowing how to tail someone, shut up and let him drive
And Bennet being devoted to his daughter.
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And wow, Hiro uses his power so well now! Freezing time and still letting another person move...
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~Abby
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:D
the pee was hanging in midair
Ahaha, I love Jack. Also, you're on the same wavelength House!
So ... Jack doesn't have any sorta "special" heritage, but he goes on walkabout & puts himself into trances? Hmm. (Also, did they ID him? I didn't think he was 18 ... *mutters*)
There was a certain romantic-comedy cachet to "Hi, I'm your soulmate", but maybe he should open with something more mellow, like helping her find her wallet or something.
Aww, Jack. *huggles*
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Jack's a child of former hippies, but basically he's a white upper-middle-class suburb kid. It's just that his parents have kind of clung on to the New Age way of thinking, so his dad has told him stories about "finding himself" on a walkabout, and his mum probably has a crystal for serenity on her bedside table, that kind of thing. :)
His trances aren't actually controllable -- he just assumed he'd go into one when they put the mark on his wrist. For Jack, at least, his powers manifest most strongly when he's on an endorphine kick -- when he's high, excited, in pain....or turned on, ahahaa, that'll be fun...
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In a side note, I'm running into the same problem with Heroes that I got with Harry Potter--I forget where the canon ends and your fics begin. This is wonderful.
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So not kidding. :D
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Oh, please with the pr0ny side chapters! In ordinary situations, I would see Peter wearing nothing but Claude's coat and then go online to look for fic about it, but here, I'm at a disadvantage...
No, I've decided that I don't care whether it's gen or not, just please write more, and faster! I need my Heroes fix.
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and ditto with the canon thing.
i've read so much hp fanfic, i'm not sure what jk's written anymore.
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(Anonymous) 2007-04-07 05:45 am (UTC)(link)i love your story so far, btw, and i wish it was canon, but...
pr0n please?
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