sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:41 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:41 am
Entry tags:
The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Eleven
Title: The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Eleven: Four Breakfasts and Jack's Funeral
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Claire meets an old friend, Claude meets his demise, Jack meets the cops, and Nathan has too many breakfast meetings.
Notes: Thanks and credit to Utility Knife for Isaac's paintings; if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 4.8.07
CLAUDE RAINS AND THOMPSON - THE DEVEAUX BUILDING
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
"Claude. A word with me, please."
Claude had the uneasy feeling that this latest escapade of his and Bennett's was going to come to a particularly bad end. Bennett was a little naive sometimes, about some things, and thus he was Claude's responsibility as well as his partner. He didn't want to abandon his partner to the tender ministrations of Nakamura, but he didn't have a choice. When Thompson said jump, you didn't even stop to ask how high.
Inside the little greenhouse, the sprayers were misty and cool, a welcome relief from the humidity of New York.
"The baby," Thompson said, gazing out at Bennett and Nakamura.
"Pretty little thing," Claude replied.
"Glad you think so. I hope Bennett does."
"Why?" Claude asked, though he knew the answer already.
"She's going home with you to Texas. Well. Home with Bennett."
Claude lifted an eyebrow at Thompson.
"Someone needs to raise her, a Company man. Bennett's got a wife, he's been wanting kids."
"Better him than me."
"I'm not telling you anything Nakamura isn't telling Bennett right now. He's your partner; you look after him. You're going to look after her from now on, too. She isn't his child. She belongs to us."
"What precisely are you asking?" Claude said, then added belatedly, "Sir."
"The girl. Bennett is ruthless enough to kill to keep her safe, but he's...limited. He can't disappear. He doesn't know the signs of manifestation as well as you do. I want you to watch him, watch the girl, and keep them both out of trouble. If he can't report when she starts to show power, if she ever does, you need to do it for him. Do we understand each other?"
"Quis custiodiet ipsos custodies, eh?" Claude asked.
"Exactly."
"Oh aye," Claude said, as Nakamura placed the baby in Bennett's arms. "I can do that."
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - NYC
***
PETER PETRELLI, CLAIRE BENNETT, AND CLAUDE RAINS - KEMP'S BAKED GOODS
"Claire, what the hell are you doing here?" Peter asked, breaking the silence that threatened to drown all three of them.
"Followed you," Claire mumbled, looking down at her shoes. Then she looked back up, studying Claude's face intently. "I was bored. I left a note," she added. "So N...Dad and...grandma wouldn't worry about me."
"Man, Nathan's gonna kill me!" Peter said.
"Who are you?" Claire asked, looking at Claude. "You know who I am, don't you?"
This was a good point. Peter crossed his arms. "Yeah, Claude. Who exactly are you?"
Claude looked from Peter to Claire and back again, a hunted and desperate look.
"Claude," Claire said, coming forward slowly. "I remember that name. I know you too, don't I?"
"I can assure you, you don't," Claude answered, backing away from both of them.
"I do, I remember you. And -- my dad...in the hospital once. You didn't have a beard then."
"Never seen you before," Claude muttered, totally unconvincingly. Peter moved closer to Claire; she might be indestructible but it was instinct to want to protect family.
"And...fish." Claire sounded confused, so at least Peter wasn't the only one. "Fish frying -- fish and chips. You cooked us fish and chips," she said triumphantly. "Uncle Claude. I remember you."
"Uncle Claude?" Peter asked.
"I'm not her uncle," Claude said hurriedly.
"No, that's just what I called you. That time Dad was in the hospital, you came and stayed with us. Mom used to ask you over for dinner all the time. But then I thought..." she glanced at Peter, then back to Claude. "I thought you died. I remember we went to your funeral."
"Never trust a funeral without a body," Claude sighed. "You remember that and it'll serve you well."
Claire pushed past Peter, startling him, and did something that Peter would assume could get a person killed -- she hugged Claude Rains.
"Dad said you were killed -- I cried for weeks," Claire said, muffled where her face was pressed against Claude's coat. Peter watched as the other man awkwardly put one arm around her shoulders, then bowed his head over Claire's and closed his eyes. It would have been touching, except then Claude opened his goddamn mouth again.
"Your dad ought to know," he said. "He's the one who shot me."
Claire jerked back, almost running into Peter, and he caught her by the arm. Claude pulled down the collar of his shirt.
High on his shoulder was a patch of white skin and, in the center, a dark puckered scar. It was cleaner than most of the bullet scars Peter had seen in textbooks, but there wasn't much else it could be. Peter tightened his grip on Claire's arm. Claude let go of his collar and jerked his shoulder up, resettling the shirt over the scar.
"Yes," he said. "I worked for the Company. I don't anymore. Now you know why."
"But..." Claire pulled back against Peter, as if she wanted to hide. "He didn't -- he didn't mean to, did he? I mean, I know he did some bad things, but he kept me safe and he risked pretty much everything just to get me out of Texas..."
She trailed off. Claude stepped forward, and Peter wrapped his other arm around Claire's shoulders.
"For god's sake, I'm not going to hurt her," Claude snapped. "If what you say is true, I can't anyway. Let her go, Petrelli."
Peter slowly released Claire. Claude put out one hand and cupped her chin.
"I'm very sure he loves you," he said. "But he definitely meant to shoot me. He was acting on orders. And that's a truth you need to know."
***
CLAUDE AND MR. BENNETT - ODESSA, TEXAS
SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
"Get out," Bennett told him, but there was a quaver in his voice. Claude unlatched his seatbelt and stepped out onto the hot tarmac on the bridge. There was still time to save this; he wasn't a Speaker yet, wouldn't be a Speaker for another two years, but he was pretty bloody persuasive on his own.
"S'not the first time you've been told to kill a man, but is it the first time you've been told to kill a friend?" he asked.
"Tell me who it is, and we can forget about the rest," Bennett answered, and Claude knew he was done. If Bennett was pleading with Claude to save his own life, that meant he was going to end it. Here. On the bridge.
Claude could feel the drop to the water and tried to gauge it. A hundred feet? Hundred and fifty? He wasn't going to give up his student. He was his student.
"You're just going to do it?" Claude asked, now bargaining for time and possibly because he knew Bennett did have a conscience. "You're just going to off me like nothing -- "
"It's not nothing!" Bennett said angrily. "We find new people, that's what we do, and you buried one!"
Oh, you're going to regret those words in another few years, when pretty wee Claire starts to show what she can do, Claude thought to himself. God help you if she can't control it, because I won't be there to teach her.
"You acted against the interests of the Company -- "
"D'you ever stop to think what those interests are?" Claude asked, realising too late that Bennett had touched a nerve, and he'd responded. Bennett drew his gun.
"Who is it?" he asked. Claude thought fast and started working, because once the gun came out there was no going back.
You're going to do it, he said to himself. And it's going to hurt, but you'll be free. This isn't about your pain. It's about your students.
Now all he wanted was to piss Bennett off.
"And what if it was Claire?" he asked. Bennett blanched. "That's why you're so distant from her. You know you're going to turn her in. You're preparing for it."
"You used to believe in what we do."
"I used to believe in the tooth fairy," Claude retorted.
"We made a promise, both of us," Bennett insisted.
What Claude said would haunt him for seven years, just as much as Bennett's accusations would haunt Bennett when his daughter began to show her power. It was a moral statement, and Claude hated people who made moral statements and then died for him. But once you said the words, you couldn't unsay them.
"I will not hunt my own people," he said. Easy, easy --
He found the firing pin on the gun and the nerves he needed in Bennett's hand; if this was going to be convincing he had to talk and work at the same time, which was a lot like holding a conversation while playing a piano.
"This isn't who you are," he continued. Easy. "You have a choice -- "
He forced a spasm in Bennett's hand and relished the surprised, frightened look in his eyes as the gun went off. It hit Claude right where he'd intended, high in the meaty part of his shoulder, where it couldn't do much harm. He stumbled backwards, making for the ledge of the bridge.
"Why couldn't you just -- " Bennett fired again, this time on his own, and Claude stopped the bullet as soon as it pierced his skin, though not before a pretty arterial gush burst forth. He disappeared, or tried to -- it flickered for a moment before he could hold it. If he couldn't fly once he went over, he was a dead man any old way.
He took a deep breath and backflipped over the rail, just in time to hear Bennett fire two more shots. The blood loss was already making him dizzy, but he managed to slow his descent until he stopped just above the scrub that overgrew the river. He saw Bennett's face as he leaned over the edge, and then saw it disappear. He strained to listen for the sound of the car starting up. When it finally did, Claude exhaled.
When you find yourself floating invisibly three feet above a river, bleeding out from bulletwounds inflicted on you by your former best friend, it might be time to take a moment and evaluate your life to date.
***
JESSICA AND MICAH SANDERS AND DL HAWKINS - NYC
"Hey, I just thought of something," Jessica said, lying on the hotel bed, watching TV upside down. Micah, working on his laptop next to her, looked up.
"What?" he asked.
"We're going to be here for a big election," Jessica said. "You should do a report on it for social studies."
"Like what?"
"Well, like how the news stations talk about the election. Hey, we could go down to the polls and watch people vote."
"Sounds boring," DL grunted.
"It's educational," Jessica replied.
"Yeah, and boring."
"Don't listen to Daddy," Jessica told Micah. "I'll skip classes for a day and we'll go down and watch them vote, and find out how the whole thing works. How about it?"
"Okay," Micah said agreeably. "Sounds like fun. I want to see a voting machine."
"You got it. I'm sure we can get you a look at one up-close, somehow," Jessica said, smiling.
After all, every kid should know how the democratic system worked.
***
PETER PETRELLI, CLAIRE BENNETT, AND CLAUDE RAINS - KEMP'S BAKED GOODS
"Nathan -- yeah, listen, no, okay -- Nathan -- Nathan, stop talking."
Claire leaned against the railing of the factory's stairs, feeling guilty. Peter was on his cellphone at the other end of the long, empty room, but he was still perfectly audible, and it was pretty clear he was getting shouted at.
"Don' mind him," Claude said, sitting on the steps. "He's had worse trouble than Patriarch Petrelli gettin' mad at him. He's had me mad at him, for a start."
"You're the one who's been teaching him," Claire said. "His complicated guy."
"His what?" Claude asked.
"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?"
Claire shrugged. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure how. This wasn't the man she remembered, enormous and clean-shaven and always laughing at something. After a minute, he cleared his throat.
"So Peter's brother is your dad. Must say, that was unexpected," he said.
"Is it?"
"Well, I def'nitely didn't know."
"How much do you know?"
"You'll have to be a trifle more specific," he said. "What about?"
"Any of it. Me. What I am. What Peter is. What...you are?" she asked. He nodded. "You worked with my dad."
"Yeah, I did."
"So...how much do you know?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "That's a dangerous question you're asking, Claire Bennett."
"My family's been taken away from me," she said. "I'm hiding out because the people you used to work for want to kidnap me and, what, run tests on me? I don't know if I'm ever going to see them again, and my real dad can fly. I don't even know everything Peter can do. You're alive, even though I went to your funeral. And you're really worried about dangerous questions?"
"First of all, you're not the only one who's ever lost anything by this," he said. "Second, what I know or knew is now seven years out of date, and not entirely useful. Third, the fact that I was friends with your father until he shot me doesn't give you the right to any of the information I do have."
Claire looked at him, crestfallen. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"There is a time and a place," he said. "Right now is neither."
"When?" she asked quietly.
"For a start, not when Papa Petrelli's on his way over to shout at you for breakin' out," he said with a small grin. "There will be time, Claire."
"Are you angry with my dad?" she asked. "Are you angry with me?"
"He did what he had to. We all do. You're no part of it; no part of why I left the service, anyway," he replied. "I'm not angry with you. Except," he added, as Peter approached, "for breakin' out."
"I gotta take you home," Peter said. "Nathan's sending a car."
"Jesus -- " Claude began, but Peter interrupted.
"I didn't tell him where I was, I'm not a total dumbass," Peter said. "It's meeting us a few blocks away."
Claire looked at Claude, who set his jaw stubbornly. "You've learned something, anyway," he muttered.
"Tomorrow?" Peter asked, and Claude nodded curtly.
"Morning," he said, pointing at Peter.
"Can I see you again?" Claire asked, looking plaintively at Claude as Peter began to tug her towards the stairs.
"When it's safe," Claude answered, and he didn't meet her eyes. Claire felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. That was the kind of thing people said when they didn't want to say yes.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - NYC
***
NATHAN AND HEIDI PETRELLI - NYC
Unlike Nathan, the Petrelli sons were not morning people. He could count on the boys to sleep until ten at least on weekends, which was a blessing that he and Heidi were very aware of. Sunday morning breakfast was -- well, special, in a way. Not a goopy romantic way or anything, though. Just special, because it was just him and Heidi.
"This week's going to be hectic," he said, picking the melon out of his fruit salad and eating it first. Heidi, sitting next to him, stole one of his grapes.
"I know, sweetie," she said, kissing his cheek. "It'll all be over by Friday though, you know? I think I can put up with it for a week."
"You've been putting up a lot longer than a week."
"Well, I knew what I was getting into. Ambitious young Nathan Petrelli, class president...I've told you over and over, I signed on for this. I want to be the governor's wife."
"Governor!" Nathan gave her an offended look. "I'm not settling for less than First Lady for you."
"Well, that's very good of you."
"Only the best for Mrs. Petrelli."
She smiled and stole another grape. "So -- office today, home by dinner? I have some calls to make, but no meetings."
"Should be. I need to get going, too -- I have a breakfast meeting before I get into headquarters."
"How many breakfasts are you going to eat today?" she asked, laughing. He had to stop and count.
"Four," he said. "Here, pre-HQ breakfast, bagels with the volunteers in midtown, and brunch with the Young Voters' League. But it's okay, because I don't get lunch."
"Stay out of trouble," she said, as he wiped his mouth and stood up.
"I try," he replied, kissing her goodbye.
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS AND CLAIRE BENNETT - THE SAFE HOUSE
Peter was up and showering when Claire woke, so she switched on the morning news and poured herself a bowl of cereal. Hello! Manhattan was doing a segment on accident survivors called "I Shouldn't Be Alive!" which Claire could relate to.
"Morning!" Peter called, walking down the hallway to his bedroom.
"Morning!" she called back, trying not to peek. It wasn't pervy, she'd decided; it was aesthetic appreciation. "You want breakfast?"
"Peel me a grape!" he shouted from the bedroom. Claire rolled her eyes. "Hey, you know Nathan's coming over, right?"
"Nathan's here," Nathan said, stepping through the front door. "Do I need to take a roll call today?"
"Hi, Dad," Claire said, still getting used to the sound of that in her mouth. She hugged him in greeting, and was pleased that he hugged back. She wasn't sure how angry he still might be after yesterday -- he'd been plenty furious on the car trip home, but like Peter told her, nobody got disowned. There was a lot more shouting in the Petrelli family than the Bennett family, but it didn't seem to actually affect anything. "You want some breakfast?"
"Absolutely. What's on the menu?"
"Peter wants a peeled grape."
"I'd settle for toast or -- doughnuts!" Peter said, emerging and pulling on a shirt as Nathan held up a white carton. "Awesome."
"Sunday morning treat, because I can't stay long," Nathan said. Peter took the carton and set it on the kitchen table, opening it and shoving a glazed doughnut in his mouth. "You're all class, Pete."
"It's hard work, being unemployed," Peter replied. Nathan sat down and took one of the small cake doughnuts, tearing it to pieces as he ate.
"Actually...I kinda have something I need to talk to you about," Peter said. Nathan glanced at Claire, but Peter put a hand on her arm. "Claire too. It's about Dad. You remember how you said you thought maybe Dad was like us?"
"What'd you find, Peter?" Nathan asked, almost suspiciously.
"Nothing incriminating," Peter replied, around a mouthful of custard-filled. "But I think I can do what he did."
"Which is?"
"Uh." Peter frowned. "Hallucinate."
Nathan gave Peter a long, measuring look. Claire sensed that maybe there was some tension between the brothers that they hadn't shown until now.
"Peter, you know, the crazy-little-brother thing, I'd really like to swerve around that this time if we could," Nathan said slowly.
"Yesterday I was thinking about Dad, you know? And I saw this...vision. It was like a movie for a second. Stuff that wasn't there. I think it's like stuff that's important to people."
"Uh-huh," Nathan said.
"Like, you look at someone and you kind of see...what's on their mind."
"And you think Dad did that?" Nathan asked.
"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Peter said. Claire wanted to kick him in the shin and tell him to calm down, because he was obviously freaking her dad out, but it looked like this probably wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last. "Remember when I was really screwed up and I told you I thought maybe Dad was following me or something? I think he was seeing things. When he looked at me, you know?"
"Is this the Vicki thing?" Nathan asked.
"What Vicki thing?" Claire said.
"Peter had a girlfriend Dad didn't like. Nobody liked her, actually. I don't think Peter liked her," Nathan said.
"Listen, my point is, I think that was what Dad could do. I think he saw things about people, actually hallucinated them. I mean..." 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?"
"My grandfather killed himself?" Claire asked, into the long silence that followed. Her father and uncle exchanged a look across the table.
"There's a lot of family business you don't know about yet," Nathan said. "But if it's any consolation, it looks like insanity isn't actually one of our genetic traits."
"Just invisibility," Peter said, looking mischevious. "Indestructibility. Oh yeah, and some of us can fly..."
"I should get going," Nathan kissed Claire on the forehead and slapped Peter on the back.
"But -- " Claire began.
"I promise, when this is all over, I will sit you down and explain everything," Nathan said.
"Everyone keeps saying that," Claire murmured rebelliously.
"I mean it. Just give me a few more days, okay?" he asked, and left before she could really reply.
***
HIRO, ANDO, NATHAN, AND JACK - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
For the rest of New York, Sunday was a day off.
For the Petrelli volunteers, it was the second to last day before the election.
Hiro and Ando were originally supposed to be campaigning downtown, but Hiro was in the process of wrangling them duty in Greenwich village, going door-to-door and handing out buttons reminding people to vote on November 7th, when Jack showed up.
"Well, that's helpful," he said cheerfully, joining the growing crowd in the common area of Petrelli Campaign Headquarters. "I mean, if we don't find the place going door-to-door, it might not damn well exist."
"Yes," Hiro said, eyeing the plastic bag Jack was carrying. It smelled really good -- better than the bagels sitting out on the table, anyway.
"Brought hot breakfast," Jack said, opening the bag. He passed a foil-wrapped cylinder to Ando. "High protein breakfast burrito for Ando, a sausage...biscuitty...thing for me, and, for Hiro Nakamura..."
A styrofoam box emerged from the bag. Hiro accepted it and lifted the lid cautiously.
Inside there was a paper pocket like the kind that french-fries came in, only instead it was filled with oblong strips. There was also a little tub of butter, slowly melting.
"Waffle sticks!" Jack said. Hiro's eyes widened.
"Perfect breakfastfood!" he said, awed.
"Maple syrup's baked in," Jack added, pointing to small brown chunks in the waffle sticks. Hiro took a stick out and dipped it in the butter, chewing rapturously.
"Genius," he said.
"Totally," Jack agreed. Ando was studying his breakfast burrito as if trying to work out how to proceed. "It's good, it's got eggs and cheese and stuff," Jack told him. He helped Ando unwrap it, and Hiro got his first really good look at Jack's tattoo. He took Jack's hand and turned it over so that they could examine it.
"It's still sore," Jack said. "But it's cool, isn't it?"
"Very nice," Hiro agreed. Privately he thought he'd gotten a much better deal with his sword, but you couldn't account for personal taste.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen!" someone called from the front, and Hiro stood on his toes to see Nathan arriving. He was still wearing his Superman pin. Hiro beamed. "Breakfast is on!"
Hiro ate his waffle sticks while the volunteer manager announced assignments and the rest of the volunteers fell on the bagels; there was a photo op with Nathan eating a bagel with the volunteers, and lots of jokes about there being no rest for the wicked, and then suddenly people were clearing out.
"Hey, Hiro," Nathan said, as he passed. "Knock 'em dead today."
"Vote Petrelli!" Hiro called back. "Up, up, and away!"
***
NATHAN PETRELLI - YOUNG VOTERS' LEAGUE - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
You had to pace yourself in breakfast as in all things. Nathan wasn't sure how this schedule had happened, but he was pretty sure tomorrow he was having two and a half lunches as well, which meant that maybe his campaign manager was trying to give him a cholesterol-induced heart attack. Though, to be fair, his manager didn't know about breakfast with Peter and Claire.
The Young Voters' League probably wasn't going to win him any votes, but the kids who were there today were going to be voting for him for years to come, if he could make the right impression now. You couldn't just look at one election, you had to look at an entire career. Plus, they were bipartisan, anyone from any party could join, so it looked good that Nathan was schmoozing them.
He had to load up his plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and biscuits, because the kids had cooked this stuff themselves. Looking at it, he wondered if he could cut it up into really small pieces like he had when he was a little kid and was trying to get away with not eating something he didn't like.
There were speeches, made by the kids, about public service and political awareness, the importance of voting intelligently, the importance of free debate, a hundred and one other public-minded duties that were part of being a citizen of the United States. Nathan clapped and managed to finish off the eggs and biscuits by the time it was his turn to speak, but he was afraid the hash browns might finish him off for good.
On his way to the podium, one of the Young Voters touched his arm to get his attention.
"Yes?" he asked, knowing the look of someone with News when he saw it.
"Mr. Petrelli," the young man said, "there's a report on CNN.com you should see, when you get a minute. You're up four points."
"Four points from where I was?" he asked.
"Four points over your nearest competition," he said. "Congratulations, Mr. Petrelli -- you're in the lead."
Suddenly, Nathan felt as if he could eat an entire plate of hash browns.
***
HIRO, ANDO, AND JACK - GREENWICH VILLAGE
By mid-afternoon the clear weather of the morning had faded into overcast, and it had begun to rain. Jack, Hiro, and Ando took shelter in the Versa, staring out the window and watching it pour down relentlessly. They'd started a new debate, while they waited for it to let up: whether Ouran High School Host Club would be improved by the introduction of characters with superpowers, or whether nothing at all could ever improve Ouran High School Host Club.
"Let's get something to eat," Jack said finally. "The storm's moving east, it'll clear up in about an hour. There's a pizza place four blocks from here."
"Better than Google," Ando said, starting the car.
"Sexier too," Jack replied. "Just go up to the stoplight and hang a left."
They got as far as the stoplight when Jack let out a surprise yell.
"That's it!" he said, pointing to the right. Ando slammed on the brakes and horns blared.
"What? What?" he asked.
"Claire! The girl! I know where she is!" Jack said. "Turn right!"
"Are you crazy?" Ando asked.
"Fine, turn left and then turn around! Just go that way!" Jack said, pointing. Ando turned left through the yellow light, spun the Versa like a stunt driver, and managed to get through the green light going the other way.
"Which way now?" he asked.
"Straight! I think!" Jack said excitedly. "No wait -- left lane -- your other left -- okay, turn at the stop sign. Dude! There it is!"
He pointed over Hiro's shoulder at a tan building that looked like one in a long line of tan buildings, but somehow had to be the one. He didn't know how he knew. He just...knew. His wrist throbbed.
"Yahoo!" Hiro said, as Jack leapt out of the car before it had fully stopped. He heard Hiro and Ando following him to the door, but when he tried it, it wouldn't budge. Well, of course it was locked; this was New York.
"She's in here," he told Hiro. "She's on the fifth floor. We gotta get inside."
"Buzzers!" Ando said, pointing to a panel on the opposite side of the doorway.
"Sweet," Jack said, pressing the buzzer next to 501. Even as he pressed it, it occurred to him that he had no idea what he was going to say to Claire when he found her. 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.
"Hello?" said a deep male voice. Jack paused.
"Pizza delivery?" he said.
"Fuck off," said the voice. Jack pushed 502 insistently. No answer, and none for 503, either.
He was just pushing 504 when he became aware that Hiro and Ando had disappeared. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
"Hiya, kid," said an enormously, impossibly muscular man. He had a badge. "What's going on?"
"Uh..." Jack said.
Next time, on Heroes ("Who Is Simon Porter?")
"I need your help again, Isaac," Bennett said. Isaac opened his mouth, and Bennett leveled the gun at him.
"Hiro, I was on a roll here. You gotta learn not to interrupt me when I'm intimidating people."
"I just know I'm supposed to find her. Kind of cool that I did, don't you think? City this big, what are the odds, right?"
"I can't help that I read minds," Matt said apologetically.
"In the last ten minutes, something's changed the future. He stopped here...and started something new on the same canvas."
"I heal. That's what I do." "Man, getting your ears pierced must have sucked!"
"I should think the fact that you're walkin' round alive on account of my heroic nature wouldn't be lost on you," Claude said.
Chapter Twelve
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Claire meets an old friend, Claude meets his demise, Jack meets the cops, and Nathan has too many breakfast meetings.
Notes: Thanks and credit to Utility Knife for Isaac's paintings; if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 4.8.07
CLAUDE RAINS AND THOMPSON - THE DEVEAUX BUILDING
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
"Claude. A word with me, please."
Claude had the uneasy feeling that this latest escapade of his and Bennett's was going to come to a particularly bad end. Bennett was a little naive sometimes, about some things, and thus he was Claude's responsibility as well as his partner. He didn't want to abandon his partner to the tender ministrations of Nakamura, but he didn't have a choice. When Thompson said jump, you didn't even stop to ask how high.
Inside the little greenhouse, the sprayers were misty and cool, a welcome relief from the humidity of New York.
"The baby," Thompson said, gazing out at Bennett and Nakamura.
"Pretty little thing," Claude replied.
"Glad you think so. I hope Bennett does."
"Why?" Claude asked, though he knew the answer already.
"She's going home with you to Texas. Well. Home with Bennett."
Claude lifted an eyebrow at Thompson.
"Someone needs to raise her, a Company man. Bennett's got a wife, he's been wanting kids."
"Better him than me."
"I'm not telling you anything Nakamura isn't telling Bennett right now. He's your partner; you look after him. You're going to look after her from now on, too. She isn't his child. She belongs to us."
"What precisely are you asking?" Claude said, then added belatedly, "Sir."
"The girl. Bennett is ruthless enough to kill to keep her safe, but he's...limited. He can't disappear. He doesn't know the signs of manifestation as well as you do. I want you to watch him, watch the girl, and keep them both out of trouble. If he can't report when she starts to show power, if she ever does, you need to do it for him. Do we understand each other?"
"Quis custiodiet ipsos custodies, eh?" Claude asked.
"Exactly."
"Oh aye," Claude said, as Nakamura placed the baby in Bennett's arms. "I can do that."
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - NYC
***
PETER PETRELLI, CLAIRE BENNETT, AND CLAUDE RAINS - KEMP'S BAKED GOODS
"Claire, what the hell are you doing here?" Peter asked, breaking the silence that threatened to drown all three of them.
"Followed you," Claire mumbled, looking down at her shoes. Then she looked back up, studying Claude's face intently. "I was bored. I left a note," she added. "So N...Dad and...grandma wouldn't worry about me."
"Man, Nathan's gonna kill me!" Peter said.
"Who are you?" Claire asked, looking at Claude. "You know who I am, don't you?"
This was a good point. Peter crossed his arms. "Yeah, Claude. Who exactly are you?"
Claude looked from Peter to Claire and back again, a hunted and desperate look.
"Claude," Claire said, coming forward slowly. "I remember that name. I know you too, don't I?"
"I can assure you, you don't," Claude answered, backing away from both of them.
"I do, I remember you. And -- my dad...in the hospital once. You didn't have a beard then."
"Never seen you before," Claude muttered, totally unconvincingly. Peter moved closer to Claire; she might be indestructible but it was instinct to want to protect family.
"And...fish." Claire sounded confused, so at least Peter wasn't the only one. "Fish frying -- fish and chips. You cooked us fish and chips," she said triumphantly. "Uncle Claude. I remember you."
"Uncle Claude?" Peter asked.
"I'm not her uncle," Claude said hurriedly.
"No, that's just what I called you. That time Dad was in the hospital, you came and stayed with us. Mom used to ask you over for dinner all the time. But then I thought..." she glanced at Peter, then back to Claude. "I thought you died. I remember we went to your funeral."
"Never trust a funeral without a body," Claude sighed. "You remember that and it'll serve you well."
Claire pushed past Peter, startling him, and did something that Peter would assume could get a person killed -- she hugged Claude Rains.
"Dad said you were killed -- I cried for weeks," Claire said, muffled where her face was pressed against Claude's coat. Peter watched as the other man awkwardly put one arm around her shoulders, then bowed his head over Claire's and closed his eyes. It would have been touching, except then Claude opened his goddamn mouth again.
"Your dad ought to know," he said. "He's the one who shot me."
Claire jerked back, almost running into Peter, and he caught her by the arm. Claude pulled down the collar of his shirt.
High on his shoulder was a patch of white skin and, in the center, a dark puckered scar. It was cleaner than most of the bullet scars Peter had seen in textbooks, but there wasn't much else it could be. Peter tightened his grip on Claire's arm. Claude let go of his collar and jerked his shoulder up, resettling the shirt over the scar.
"Yes," he said. "I worked for the Company. I don't anymore. Now you know why."
"But..." Claire pulled back against Peter, as if she wanted to hide. "He didn't -- he didn't mean to, did he? I mean, I know he did some bad things, but he kept me safe and he risked pretty much everything just to get me out of Texas..."
She trailed off. Claude stepped forward, and Peter wrapped his other arm around Claire's shoulders.
"For god's sake, I'm not going to hurt her," Claude snapped. "If what you say is true, I can't anyway. Let her go, Petrelli."
Peter slowly released Claire. Claude put out one hand and cupped her chin.
"I'm very sure he loves you," he said. "But he definitely meant to shoot me. He was acting on orders. And that's a truth you need to know."
***
CLAUDE AND MR. BENNETT - ODESSA, TEXAS
SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
"Get out," Bennett told him, but there was a quaver in his voice. Claude unlatched his seatbelt and stepped out onto the hot tarmac on the bridge. There was still time to save this; he wasn't a Speaker yet, wouldn't be a Speaker for another two years, but he was pretty bloody persuasive on his own.
"S'not the first time you've been told to kill a man, but is it the first time you've been told to kill a friend?" he asked.
"Tell me who it is, and we can forget about the rest," Bennett answered, and Claude knew he was done. If Bennett was pleading with Claude to save his own life, that meant he was going to end it. Here. On the bridge.
Claude could feel the drop to the water and tried to gauge it. A hundred feet? Hundred and fifty? He wasn't going to give up his student. He was his student.
"You're just going to do it?" Claude asked, now bargaining for time and possibly because he knew Bennett did have a conscience. "You're just going to off me like nothing -- "
"It's not nothing!" Bennett said angrily. "We find new people, that's what we do, and you buried one!"
Oh, you're going to regret those words in another few years, when pretty wee Claire starts to show what she can do, Claude thought to himself. God help you if she can't control it, because I won't be there to teach her.
"You acted against the interests of the Company -- "
"D'you ever stop to think what those interests are?" Claude asked, realising too late that Bennett had touched a nerve, and he'd responded. Bennett drew his gun.
"Who is it?" he asked. Claude thought fast and started working, because once the gun came out there was no going back.
You're going to do it, he said to himself. And it's going to hurt, but you'll be free. This isn't about your pain. It's about your students.
Now all he wanted was to piss Bennett off.
"And what if it was Claire?" he asked. Bennett blanched. "That's why you're so distant from her. You know you're going to turn her in. You're preparing for it."
"You used to believe in what we do."
"I used to believe in the tooth fairy," Claude retorted.
"We made a promise, both of us," Bennett insisted.
What Claude said would haunt him for seven years, just as much as Bennett's accusations would haunt Bennett when his daughter began to show her power. It was a moral statement, and Claude hated people who made moral statements and then died for him. But once you said the words, you couldn't unsay them.
"I will not hunt my own people," he said. Easy, easy --
He found the firing pin on the gun and the nerves he needed in Bennett's hand; if this was going to be convincing he had to talk and work at the same time, which was a lot like holding a conversation while playing a piano.
"This isn't who you are," he continued. Easy. "You have a choice -- "
He forced a spasm in Bennett's hand and relished the surprised, frightened look in his eyes as the gun went off. It hit Claude right where he'd intended, high in the meaty part of his shoulder, where it couldn't do much harm. He stumbled backwards, making for the ledge of the bridge.
"Why couldn't you just -- " Bennett fired again, this time on his own, and Claude stopped the bullet as soon as it pierced his skin, though not before a pretty arterial gush burst forth. He disappeared, or tried to -- it flickered for a moment before he could hold it. If he couldn't fly once he went over, he was a dead man any old way.
He took a deep breath and backflipped over the rail, just in time to hear Bennett fire two more shots. The blood loss was already making him dizzy, but he managed to slow his descent until he stopped just above the scrub that overgrew the river. He saw Bennett's face as he leaned over the edge, and then saw it disappear. He strained to listen for the sound of the car starting up. When it finally did, Claude exhaled.
When you find yourself floating invisibly three feet above a river, bleeding out from bulletwounds inflicted on you by your former best friend, it might be time to take a moment and evaluate your life to date.
***
JESSICA AND MICAH SANDERS AND DL HAWKINS - NYC
"Hey, I just thought of something," Jessica said, lying on the hotel bed, watching TV upside down. Micah, working on his laptop next to her, looked up.
"What?" he asked.
"We're going to be here for a big election," Jessica said. "You should do a report on it for social studies."
"Like what?"
"Well, like how the news stations talk about the election. Hey, we could go down to the polls and watch people vote."
"Sounds boring," DL grunted.
"It's educational," Jessica replied.
"Yeah, and boring."
"Don't listen to Daddy," Jessica told Micah. "I'll skip classes for a day and we'll go down and watch them vote, and find out how the whole thing works. How about it?"
"Okay," Micah said agreeably. "Sounds like fun. I want to see a voting machine."
"You got it. I'm sure we can get you a look at one up-close, somehow," Jessica said, smiling.
After all, every kid should know how the democratic system worked.
***
PETER PETRELLI, CLAIRE BENNETT, AND CLAUDE RAINS - KEMP'S BAKED GOODS
"Nathan -- yeah, listen, no, okay -- Nathan -- Nathan, stop talking."
Claire leaned against the railing of the factory's stairs, feeling guilty. Peter was on his cellphone at the other end of the long, empty room, but he was still perfectly audible, and it was pretty clear he was getting shouted at.
"Don' mind him," Claude said, sitting on the steps. "He's had worse trouble than Patriarch Petrelli gettin' mad at him. He's had me mad at him, for a start."
"You're the one who's been teaching him," Claire said. "His complicated guy."
"His what?" Claude asked.
"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?"
Claire shrugged. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure how. This wasn't the man she remembered, enormous and clean-shaven and always laughing at something. After a minute, he cleared his throat.
"So Peter's brother is your dad. Must say, that was unexpected," he said.
"Is it?"
"Well, I def'nitely didn't know."
"How much do you know?"
"You'll have to be a trifle more specific," he said. "What about?"
"Any of it. Me. What I am. What Peter is. What...you are?" she asked. He nodded. "You worked with my dad."
"Yeah, I did."
"So...how much do you know?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "That's a dangerous question you're asking, Claire Bennett."
"My family's been taken away from me," she said. "I'm hiding out because the people you used to work for want to kidnap me and, what, run tests on me? I don't know if I'm ever going to see them again, and my real dad can fly. I don't even know everything Peter can do. You're alive, even though I went to your funeral. And you're really worried about dangerous questions?"
"First of all, you're not the only one who's ever lost anything by this," he said. "Second, what I know or knew is now seven years out of date, and not entirely useful. Third, the fact that I was friends with your father until he shot me doesn't give you the right to any of the information I do have."
Claire looked at him, crestfallen. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"There is a time and a place," he said. "Right now is neither."
"When?" she asked quietly.
"For a start, not when Papa Petrelli's on his way over to shout at you for breakin' out," he said with a small grin. "There will be time, Claire."
"Are you angry with my dad?" she asked. "Are you angry with me?"
"He did what he had to. We all do. You're no part of it; no part of why I left the service, anyway," he replied. "I'm not angry with you. Except," he added, as Peter approached, "for breakin' out."
"I gotta take you home," Peter said. "Nathan's sending a car."
"Jesus -- " Claude began, but Peter interrupted.
"I didn't tell him where I was, I'm not a total dumbass," Peter said. "It's meeting us a few blocks away."
Claire looked at Claude, who set his jaw stubbornly. "You've learned something, anyway," he muttered.
"Tomorrow?" Peter asked, and Claude nodded curtly.
"Morning," he said, pointing at Peter.
"Can I see you again?" Claire asked, looking plaintively at Claude as Peter began to tug her towards the stairs.
"When it's safe," Claude answered, and he didn't meet her eyes. Claire felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. That was the kind of thing people said when they didn't want to say yes.
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - NYC
***
NATHAN AND HEIDI PETRELLI - NYC
Unlike Nathan, the Petrelli sons were not morning people. He could count on the boys to sleep until ten at least on weekends, which was a blessing that he and Heidi were very aware of. Sunday morning breakfast was -- well, special, in a way. Not a goopy romantic way or anything, though. Just special, because it was just him and Heidi.
"This week's going to be hectic," he said, picking the melon out of his fruit salad and eating it first. Heidi, sitting next to him, stole one of his grapes.
"I know, sweetie," she said, kissing his cheek. "It'll all be over by Friday though, you know? I think I can put up with it for a week."
"You've been putting up a lot longer than a week."
"Well, I knew what I was getting into. Ambitious young Nathan Petrelli, class president...I've told you over and over, I signed on for this. I want to be the governor's wife."
"Governor!" Nathan gave her an offended look. "I'm not settling for less than First Lady for you."
"Well, that's very good of you."
"Only the best for Mrs. Petrelli."
She smiled and stole another grape. "So -- office today, home by dinner? I have some calls to make, but no meetings."
"Should be. I need to get going, too -- I have a breakfast meeting before I get into headquarters."
"How many breakfasts are you going to eat today?" she asked, laughing. He had to stop and count.
"Four," he said. "Here, pre-HQ breakfast, bagels with the volunteers in midtown, and brunch with the Young Voters' League. But it's okay, because I don't get lunch."
"Stay out of trouble," she said, as he wiped his mouth and stood up.
"I try," he replied, kissing her goodbye.
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS AND CLAIRE BENNETT - THE SAFE HOUSE
Peter was up and showering when Claire woke, so she switched on the morning news and poured herself a bowl of cereal. Hello! Manhattan was doing a segment on accident survivors called "I Shouldn't Be Alive!" which Claire could relate to.
"Morning!" Peter called, walking down the hallway to his bedroom.
"Morning!" she called back, trying not to peek. It wasn't pervy, she'd decided; it was aesthetic appreciation. "You want breakfast?"
"Peel me a grape!" he shouted from the bedroom. Claire rolled her eyes. "Hey, you know Nathan's coming over, right?"
"Nathan's here," Nathan said, stepping through the front door. "Do I need to take a roll call today?"
"Hi, Dad," Claire said, still getting used to the sound of that in her mouth. She hugged him in greeting, and was pleased that he hugged back. She wasn't sure how angry he still might be after yesterday -- he'd been plenty furious on the car trip home, but like Peter told her, nobody got disowned. There was a lot more shouting in the Petrelli family than the Bennett family, but it didn't seem to actually affect anything. "You want some breakfast?"
"Absolutely. What's on the menu?"
"Peter wants a peeled grape."
"I'd settle for toast or -- doughnuts!" Peter said, emerging and pulling on a shirt as Nathan held up a white carton. "Awesome."
"Sunday morning treat, because I can't stay long," Nathan said. Peter took the carton and set it on the kitchen table, opening it and shoving a glazed doughnut in his mouth. "You're all class, Pete."
"It's hard work, being unemployed," Peter replied. Nathan sat down and took one of the small cake doughnuts, tearing it to pieces as he ate.
"Actually...I kinda have something I need to talk to you about," Peter said. Nathan glanced at Claire, but Peter put a hand on her arm. "Claire too. It's about Dad. You remember how you said you thought maybe Dad was like us?"
"What'd you find, Peter?" Nathan asked, almost suspiciously.
"Nothing incriminating," Peter replied, around a mouthful of custard-filled. "But I think I can do what he did."
"Which is?"
"Uh." Peter frowned. "Hallucinate."
Nathan gave Peter a long, measuring look. Claire sensed that maybe there was some tension between the brothers that they hadn't shown until now.
"Peter, you know, the crazy-little-brother thing, I'd really like to swerve around that this time if we could," Nathan said slowly.
"Yesterday I was thinking about Dad, you know? And I saw this...vision. It was like a movie for a second. Stuff that wasn't there. I think it's like stuff that's important to people."
"Uh-huh," Nathan said.
"Like, you look at someone and you kind of see...what's on their mind."
"And you think Dad did that?" Nathan asked.
"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Peter said. Claire wanted to kick him in the shin and tell him to calm down, because he was obviously freaking her dad out, but it looked like this probably wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last. "Remember when I was really screwed up and I told you I thought maybe Dad was following me or something? I think he was seeing things. When he looked at me, you know?"
"Is this the Vicki thing?" Nathan asked.
"What Vicki thing?" Claire said.
"Peter had a girlfriend Dad didn't like. Nobody liked her, actually. I don't think Peter liked her," Nathan said.
"Listen, my point is, I think that was what Dad could do. I think he saw things about people, actually hallucinated them. I mean..." 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?"
"My grandfather killed himself?" Claire asked, into the long silence that followed. Her father and uncle exchanged a look across the table.
"There's a lot of family business you don't know about yet," Nathan said. "But if it's any consolation, it looks like insanity isn't actually one of our genetic traits."
"Just invisibility," Peter said, looking mischevious. "Indestructibility. Oh yeah, and some of us can fly..."
"I should get going," Nathan kissed Claire on the forehead and slapped Peter on the back.
"But -- " Claire began.
"I promise, when this is all over, I will sit you down and explain everything," Nathan said.
"Everyone keeps saying that," Claire murmured rebelliously.
"I mean it. Just give me a few more days, okay?" he asked, and left before she could really reply.
***
HIRO, ANDO, NATHAN, AND JACK - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
For the rest of New York, Sunday was a day off.
For the Petrelli volunteers, it was the second to last day before the election.
Hiro and Ando were originally supposed to be campaigning downtown, but Hiro was in the process of wrangling them duty in Greenwich village, going door-to-door and handing out buttons reminding people to vote on November 7th, when Jack showed up.
"Well, that's helpful," he said cheerfully, joining the growing crowd in the common area of Petrelli Campaign Headquarters. "I mean, if we don't find the place going door-to-door, it might not damn well exist."
"Yes," Hiro said, eyeing the plastic bag Jack was carrying. It smelled really good -- better than the bagels sitting out on the table, anyway.
"Brought hot breakfast," Jack said, opening the bag. He passed a foil-wrapped cylinder to Ando. "High protein breakfast burrito for Ando, a sausage...biscuitty...thing for me, and, for Hiro Nakamura..."
A styrofoam box emerged from the bag. Hiro accepted it and lifted the lid cautiously.
Inside there was a paper pocket like the kind that french-fries came in, only instead it was filled with oblong strips. There was also a little tub of butter, slowly melting.
"Waffle sticks!" Jack said. Hiro's eyes widened.
"Perfect breakfastfood!" he said, awed.
"Maple syrup's baked in," Jack added, pointing to small brown chunks in the waffle sticks. Hiro took a stick out and dipped it in the butter, chewing rapturously.
"Genius," he said.
"Totally," Jack agreed. Ando was studying his breakfast burrito as if trying to work out how to proceed. "It's good, it's got eggs and cheese and stuff," Jack told him. He helped Ando unwrap it, and Hiro got his first really good look at Jack's tattoo. He took Jack's hand and turned it over so that they could examine it.
"It's still sore," Jack said. "But it's cool, isn't it?"
"Very nice," Hiro agreed. Privately he thought he'd gotten a much better deal with his sword, but you couldn't account for personal taste.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen!" someone called from the front, and Hiro stood on his toes to see Nathan arriving. He was still wearing his Superman pin. Hiro beamed. "Breakfast is on!"
Hiro ate his waffle sticks while the volunteer manager announced assignments and the rest of the volunteers fell on the bagels; there was a photo op with Nathan eating a bagel with the volunteers, and lots of jokes about there being no rest for the wicked, and then suddenly people were clearing out.
"Hey, Hiro," Nathan said, as he passed. "Knock 'em dead today."
"Vote Petrelli!" Hiro called back. "Up, up, and away!"
***
NATHAN PETRELLI - YOUNG VOTERS' LEAGUE - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
You had to pace yourself in breakfast as in all things. Nathan wasn't sure how this schedule had happened, but he was pretty sure tomorrow he was having two and a half lunches as well, which meant that maybe his campaign manager was trying to give him a cholesterol-induced heart attack. Though, to be fair, his manager didn't know about breakfast with Peter and Claire.
The Young Voters' League probably wasn't going to win him any votes, but the kids who were there today were going to be voting for him for years to come, if he could make the right impression now. You couldn't just look at one election, you had to look at an entire career. Plus, they were bipartisan, anyone from any party could join, so it looked good that Nathan was schmoozing them.
He had to load up his plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and biscuits, because the kids had cooked this stuff themselves. Looking at it, he wondered if he could cut it up into really small pieces like he had when he was a little kid and was trying to get away with not eating something he didn't like.
There were speeches, made by the kids, about public service and political awareness, the importance of voting intelligently, the importance of free debate, a hundred and one other public-minded duties that were part of being a citizen of the United States. Nathan clapped and managed to finish off the eggs and biscuits by the time it was his turn to speak, but he was afraid the hash browns might finish him off for good.
On his way to the podium, one of the Young Voters touched his arm to get his attention.
"Yes?" he asked, knowing the look of someone with News when he saw it.
"Mr. Petrelli," the young man said, "there's a report on CNN.com you should see, when you get a minute. You're up four points."
"Four points from where I was?" he asked.
"Four points over your nearest competition," he said. "Congratulations, Mr. Petrelli -- you're in the lead."
Suddenly, Nathan felt as if he could eat an entire plate of hash browns.
***
HIRO, ANDO, AND JACK - GREENWICH VILLAGE
By mid-afternoon the clear weather of the morning had faded into overcast, and it had begun to rain. Jack, Hiro, and Ando took shelter in the Versa, staring out the window and watching it pour down relentlessly. They'd started a new debate, while they waited for it to let up: whether Ouran High School Host Club would be improved by the introduction of characters with superpowers, or whether nothing at all could ever improve Ouran High School Host Club.
"Let's get something to eat," Jack said finally. "The storm's moving east, it'll clear up in about an hour. There's a pizza place four blocks from here."
"Better than Google," Ando said, starting the car.
"Sexier too," Jack replied. "Just go up to the stoplight and hang a left."
They got as far as the stoplight when Jack let out a surprise yell.
"That's it!" he said, pointing to the right. Ando slammed on the brakes and horns blared.
"What? What?" he asked.
"Claire! The girl! I know where she is!" Jack said. "Turn right!"
"Are you crazy?" Ando asked.
"Fine, turn left and then turn around! Just go that way!" Jack said, pointing. Ando turned left through the yellow light, spun the Versa like a stunt driver, and managed to get through the green light going the other way.
"Which way now?" he asked.
"Straight! I think!" Jack said excitedly. "No wait -- left lane -- your other left -- okay, turn at the stop sign. Dude! There it is!"
He pointed over Hiro's shoulder at a tan building that looked like one in a long line of tan buildings, but somehow had to be the one. He didn't know how he knew. He just...knew. His wrist throbbed.
"Yahoo!" Hiro said, as Jack leapt out of the car before it had fully stopped. He heard Hiro and Ando following him to the door, but when he tried it, it wouldn't budge. Well, of course it was locked; this was New York.
"She's in here," he told Hiro. "She's on the fifth floor. We gotta get inside."
"Buzzers!" Ando said, pointing to a panel on the opposite side of the doorway.
"Sweet," Jack said, pressing the buzzer next to 501. Even as he pressed it, it occurred to him that he had no idea what he was going to say to Claire when he found her. 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.
"Hello?" said a deep male voice. Jack paused.
"Pizza delivery?" he said.
"Fuck off," said the voice. Jack pushed 502 insistently. No answer, and none for 503, either.
He was just pushing 504 when he became aware that Hiro and Ando had disappeared. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
"Hiya, kid," said an enormously, impossibly muscular man. He had a badge. "What's going on?"
"Uh..." Jack said.
Next time, on Heroes ("Who Is Simon Porter?")
"I need your help again, Isaac," Bennett said. Isaac opened his mouth, and Bennett leveled the gun at him.
"Hiro, I was on a roll here. You gotta learn not to interrupt me when I'm intimidating people."
"I just know I'm supposed to find her. Kind of cool that I did, don't you think? City this big, what are the odds, right?"
"I can't help that I read minds," Matt said apologetically.
"In the last ten minutes, something's changed the future. He stopped here...and started something new on the same canvas."
"I heal. That's what I do." "Man, getting your ears pierced must have sucked!"
"I should think the fact that you're walkin' round alive on account of my heroic nature wouldn't be lost on you," Claude said.
Chapter Twelve
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