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sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:51 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:51 am
Entry tags:
The Hiatus Continuations: Epilogue
Title: The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Twenty-One: Six (Epilogue)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Six weeks, six months, and six years at a steady run: Hope is born, corndogs are consumed, baseball is played, congressmen are shot, boy gets girl (and a stab wound), Empaths become friends, life isn't perfect, life is good, life goes on.
Originally posted 4.20.07
ISAAC MENDEZ - UNDATED PAINTING
SIX WEEKS LATER
JACK, SIMON, AND MIKEY - DAYTON, OHIO
Corndogs were one of the finest achievements, in Simon's opinion, of the culinary arts.
Really. A sausage, battered in cornmeal and fried in fat. And when you were done you had a stick you could poke people with. Corndogs. Absolutely amazing things.
Jack elbowed him in the ribs. Simon did not take naturally to Jack, but he was trying, so he let that go and finished chewing, shoving the stick in his pocket.
"There he is," Jack said, pointing to a boy in a baseball uniform, stretching and cracking his neck as he walked towards the locker rooms, leaving behind a knot of excited teammates and underdressed cheerleaders. "HEY! MIKEY!"
The boy turned his head and then broke into a run, skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust and gravel. "Jack! Hi!"
"Careful," Jack said, wincing as they shook hands. Mikey beamed at him.
"How are you? How'd it go in New York? Who's the dude?" he asked, breathlessly.
Teenagers. If you gave him a choice between teenagers and corndogs, Simon knew immediately which he would pick.
"Mr. Porter, this is Mikey. Mikey, this is Simon Porter."
"That's all right," Simon said, declining to shake as Mikey put his hand out. "Heard a lot about you, Mikey."
"From Jack? There isn't much to say really," Mikey said shyly.
"Mr. Porter's been training me," Jack continued. "He wanted to come meet you."
"That I did. I hear you're the lad who lifts SUVs for fun."
Mikey grinned. "Did you see the game?"
"It was great," Jack said. "Hey, you got a minute?"
"Sure, what's up?" Mikey waved as a few of his teammates walked past.
"Mr. Porter's pretty interested in people like us," Jack said. "He runs this whole company, well, we're just starting up, that helps people. We were kinda wondering if you wanted in."
Mikey's brow furrowed. "Like...a job?"
"Sorta more like summerschool. Only not," Jack added quickly, glancing at Simon, who said nothing. The kid had to learn how to do this on his own sometime. "We want you to come to New York for a while and show off what you can do. Like a sports clinic. And maybe learn a few things about controlling it and stuff."
Mikey scratched his neck. "When?"
"Whenever you want. Or..."
"Hirou International has an educational fund," Simon stepped in, saving Jack more awkward dancing around the subject. "We arrange scholarships for promisin' youth. S'a full-ride baseball scholarship to the school of your choice, anywhere in New York state, in return for your help."
Mikey stared at him. "That's -- wow, really?"
"Really."
"That's great! It's just..." Mikey hesitated.
"It's cool, Mikey," Jack said encouragingly.
"Well, there's this girl..."
Simon groaned inwardly. Wasn't there always.
"She wants to go to UC Davis. And there's some good baseball schools in California. New York...that's across the country."
Years ago, there would have been a bag and tag, coercion, pressure, scare tactics. Now Simon smiled tolerantly.
"It's up to you, Mikey. Here." He passed over one of his cards. Simon Porter, Managing Director, Hirou International. His number was on the back. "The offer's good as long as you're interested. And if you want to come out to New York just to see, gi' us a call. Jack'll show you round."
"Thanks. Hey, you want to come grab a bite with us, Jack? The team's cool, they'll like you."
Jack glanced at Simon, who nodded slightly. It wasn't so much granting permission; he wasn't the kid's father. It was more an encouragement to go, because a lot of things got said over a meal that couldn't be said elsewhere.
"Cool, yeah. Definitely," Jack said.
"Great. Imma go get changed, I'll be back, stay here," Mikey said. When he was gone, Jack frowned.
"I could have done it myself," he said.
"Next time, do. Don' tiptoe around it. Things go a lot faster if you're frank about 'em."
"It's harder to talk to people about it with you listening all the time."
Simon laughed. "Good, then when I shove you out of the nest to flap your little wings on your own, it'll seem easy."
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS - HELLO! MANHATTAN STUDIOS
"And, after the break, Senator Nathan Petrelli grants Hello! Manhattan his first public interview since the shooting that shocked New York two weeks ago. Stay tuned."
"The bandages itch," Nathan muttered to Peter.
"Don't scratch, you'll pull your mic," Peter replied.
"You're enjoying this."
"Well...yeah."
Emma, the same woman who'd interviewed him about the Superman pin, left the newsdesk and crossed over to their set, where Nathan was sitting stiffly in one of their surprisingly uncomfortable chairs.
"Ready to go?" she asked, sitting across from him.
"I'm still on drugs," Nathan told her. She laughed.
"It's okay, the bosses told me to soft-pedal you. No hard questions for the guy who just got shot," she said.
"I'll make a note to get shot before I go on Hardball," he said. "Emma, have you met Peter?"
"In the green room." She nodded at him. "Nice of you to come with your brother."
"I'm a nurse," Peter said, smiling. "It's only sensible."
"Emma, thirty seconds," someone called.
"Thanks thirty," she called back, sifting through her notes. Nathan noticed that she glanced at his lapel.
"Got it," he said, tapping the Superman pin. "Never go anywhere without it."
"A lucky charm?"
"In more ways than anyone knows."
"And back in five, four," three, two, one...
The anchor still at the newsdesk introduced them and gave a brief history of Congressman Nathan Petrelli and his campaign, including a video clip of the police entering Nathan's house the morning after the shooting. Nathan tried not to watch.
"Thanks, Rick," Emma said, turning to smile at the camera. "I'm here with Senator Nathan Petrelli and his brother, Peter Petrelli -- good morning, gentlemen."
"Good morning, Emma," Nathan said, while Peter mumbled a smiliar greeting. "Good to be back here again."
"Though under less than ideal circumstances, I take it. People are wondering how you're managing to get around so soon after a fairly serious injury."
"Well, there's a lot of work to be done," he said. "I move a little more slowly than usual, but I get everywhere I need to be."
"We're glad you could make it today. I know the details of this shooting have been very vague up until now, but a lot of people are asking -- who would want to shoot New York City's newest congressman, and why?"
"It's a hard story, and not really a happy one for anyone concerned," Nathan said. "Public figures sometimes become targets for no other reason than they are...public figures."
"Take us through events, step by step."
"I wish I could. Some things we just don't know yet. What I know, what I remember, is waking up next to my wife to find someone standing over me, holding a gun."
"That would be the woman identified in the police reports as 'Niki'."
"Yes. She was a volunteer on the campaign, not particularly one of our shining stars, but dedicated to the campaign as all our volunteers are," Nathan said. "At the time, there was a lot of work going on and it slipped through the cracks that she wasn't officially on the roster. We don't even know her last name."
Little white lies -- well, big white lies, really. But they did protect DL and Micah, and DL and Micah were worth protecting.
"I was more concerned about my family -- my first instinct was to get up and make sure my sons were safe, to put myself between the gun and my wife. I did my best to find out why Niki was there, what I could do to get her to put the gun down."
"And what did she say?"
Nathan shook his head. "I don't recall the precise words. I know the general meaning; she felt that she'd been a vital part of the campaign, and that she was being unjustly ignored now that the election was over."
"Was she?" Emma asked. Smart woman.
"Volunteers work for us on the understanding that they're working for the common good of the city. I'm very careful never to make promises I can't keep. Since the election I have hired on three or four volunteers as staff members, but that's always based on merit and passion. Niki wasn't a passionate volunteer. In fact she was a very mentally unbalanced young woman."
Emma nodded sympathetically. "Clearly. What happened next?"
"I tried to keep her calm, keep her talking, but she was angry. I wanted to find out why, to see what we could do to fix the problem..." Nathan spread his hands, trying not to wince. "I was in the middle of asking her how I could help when the gun went off."
"According to your early press release, the day after the shooting, you were shot three times."
Nathan smiled. "I think it would have been more if it weren't for Peter. I only remember the first one."
Emma looked at Peter, who looked like he wanted to hide behind his hair. Which was a difficult maneuver when it was slicked back against his head.
"Peter Petrelli, hero of the hour," she said. "Maybe the Senator ought to give you that Superman pin."
"I -- " Peter glanced at Nathan uncertainly. "It wasn't really a conscious decision. It's what you do."
"Let's hear your side of the story. As I understand it, you don't live with your brother and his wife -- why were you there that night?"
"Well, that's kind of interesting," Peter said. More interesting than anyone knew, in fact; the public probably wouldn't take too well to the idea that Peter Petrelli, Congressman Petrelli's adorable and oddly damaged younger brother, had a psychic dream and got up in the middle of the night to go stop a shooting. "That was a, what, a Thursday night?" he asked Nathan, who nodded. "I came over for dinner, we do that a lot, and I didn't want to drive home after two glasses of wine. I crashed in my old bedroom from when we were kids, they keep it for me." Peter smiled, a winning Petrelli smile. "I'm really glad I did."
"I think most of New York City is glad you did," Emma said warmly. "What happened then?"
"Oh, about midnight I woke up and heard people talking, and I thought Monty had gotten out of bed or something -- that's my nephew -- so I got up to see if everything was okay. Then I heard this...woman."
"Niki."
"Yeah. So that was -- a little weird. I went down the hall to see what was going on and then the gun went off. By the time I got there, it was just, man. I've never seen anything like that."
Also untrue, in a sense, but perhaps nuclear explosions didn't look like your brother bleeding to death in his own bed.
"I kind of...tackled her, I guess, and we fought, and the gun went under the bed -- and she went through the window," Peter said. He'd thrown her through the window, in point of fact, to keep her from getting to the gun. Throwing women through windows, however, especially when you did it with telekinesis, was not good PR.
"She got away."
"I was kinda more worried about Nathan at the time."
"Naturally."
"Yeah. Heidi was awake, of course, and she -- she's a trooper, Heidi. She was trying to stop the bleeding."
Emma consulted her notes. "Now, I see that you're a nurse, is that right?"
"That's right. So I took over and told her to call 911. Oh, we should..." Peter gestured at Nathan.
"Yes, of course," Nathan said smoothly. This part they'd rehearsed. "I've said this before, but we do especially want to say a public thank-you to the New York City metro police and the Grace Hospital paramedics who were there that night. They don't get enough thanks for the job they do. The EMTs literally saved my life on the way to the hospital."
"Peter, you rode along with them?"
"I sort of had my hand on an artery, so I had to," Peter said. "But the cops were great too, they made sure the family was safe and drove them to the hospital."
"Senator Petrelli, you were in surgery for a long time."
"About four hours. So they tell me," Nathan said. "I've been in longer meetings."
Emma laughed. "The glamorous life of a politician?"
"Well, I'd prefer the meetings to being shot."
"No doubt. What's your prognosis on recovery? You seem to be doing fairly well."
"I'm in physical therapy twice a week, that'll go on for another four weeks, and the wounds are healing. I can do everything I need to for the city, and that's what's important for me."
"Any pain?"
"Stiffness, mostly." Such a lie. In the mornings it hurt to exist.
"I see just a little bit of bandage peeking out of your collar..."
Nathan smiled and cautiously leaned forward, unbuttoning the top of his collar and pulling the shirt open a little. "No Superman suit," he quipped. "That's the first gunshot, just under my collarbone."
"And this woman has yet to be caught. How do you account for that?"
"We have a lot of people who've given descriptions of her, and the police are doing their best, but New York has eight million people in it. It's hard to find someone who doesn't want to be found. And there are theories that she committed suicide, that she might be at the bottom of the river somewhere."
"Do you believe them?"
Nathan frowned. "I hope not. I hope we can find her and get her the help she needs. This wasn't some malicious stunt or a robbery gone bad. This woman is sick, and she needs to get professional assistance. Arresting her is going to make her less of a danger to others, but once she's found, she should get psychiatric treatment."
"Very forgiving words, coming from someone in your position."
"I'm not interested in revenge. I'm interested in keeping my family safe, and representing the people of New York City."
"And Peter?" Emma said.
"Hm?" Peter said.
"Do you agree with your brother about Niki? You actually fought with her and saw what she did to your brother. Do you feel the same way?"
"Well, I um." Peter glanced at Nathan again. "It's hard to let go of wanting to see someone hurt when they've hurt your family. I still...think about it. That night, I mean. But he's the one who got shot, so if he can, I guess I can."
"I'd like to slip in a political question, if I could," Emma said, grinning slyly. "Has this incident changed your stance on gun control at all, Senator Petrelli?"
Nathan chuckled, which hurt like a motherfucker.
"I was elected on a platform that included a middle-ground constitutional policy on gun control," Nathan said. "I support the Second Amendment, though I also support the current policies in place in New York to control the sale of dangerous weapons of all types. What I am strengthening on, after this, is increased funding for mental illness awareness and treatment."
"Something I'm sure many New Yorkers will be happy to hear. That's all the time we have for now -- Senator Petrelli, Mr. Petrelli, thank you for your time. I wish you all the best in your recovery."
"Thank you, Emma."
The cameras shut off and Nathan curled forward, wrapping his arms around his ribcage.
"Senator?" Emma asked, but Peter waved her off.
"I told you not to laugh," Peter said, hands on his shoulders. "Breathe, okay?"
"I'm all right," Nathan gasped. "It happens. Might've pulled a stitch."
"Does he need anything?" one of the cameramen asked.
"He's okay, give him a minute," Peter said, and then Nathan felt Peter in his head.
Hey, remember how we worked on this? Deep breaths. Shoulders down. I got painkillers in my pocket, you can have them when we get to the car.
Nathan felt himself relax and knew that Peter was behind it, but he didn't care. Telepaths -- better than drugs.
He uncurled carefully, leaning back.
"Sorry," he said to Emma, and meant it.
"I see what you mean about taking things slow," she said.
"Can we keep this quiet?"
"Hey, you were shot two weeks ago. That's news. Two minutes of you in pain? Not news," she replied. "Do you need help? You can sit in the green room for a while if you want."
"I'm just gonna take him out to the car, get him home for a while," Peter said. Nathan stood, felt Peter steadying him, and shook Emma's hand.
"It's a real pleasure," he said.
"Anytime."
When he got to the car he passed out, and only woke up when Peter helped him up the stairs and into the house, easing him down on the sofa.
"I'm going to shoot Jessica Sanders in the head," Peter said to Nathan. "All that forgiveness crap? Is crap."
"I'll buy you the gun," Nathan agreed. Peter rubbed his shoulder, the one that hadn't had a bullet dug out of it.
"Get some rest. I got you covered." He grinned. "About time I started taking care of you."
SIX MONTHS LATER
JACK, CLAIRE, HIRO, PETER, AND SIMON - NEW YORK CITY
When Jack and Claire came through exit security at LaGuardia, Jack knew that Hiro noticed the difference right away. Jack was a touchy-feely kind of guy (well, Hiro was known to hug a few people once in a while) but he touched Claire differently now. It was just that he couldn't stop -- and she kept leaning into him and smiling at him so he knew he wasn't alone and anyway she probably didn't care that Hiro knew, because Hiro was cool about people.
"Car's this way," Hiro said, leading the way. "Look!" he added, excitement overriding curiousity. "New driver's licence."
He held up his shiny new New York driver's licence and smiled to match the picture.
"You sure it's safe to ride with you?" Jack asked.
"Safer than with you," Hiro replied. "Also, new car."
"Hey, your very own Versa!" Jack said, skimming a hand over the hood of the car. "Totally awesome."
"Corporate car," Hiro announced, climbing in. Claire took shotgun and Jack sat behind her, leaning forward to rest his chin on the shoulder of the front seat. Jack filled the car with chatter as they drove, mostly about his family in Ojai and taking the GED and how he could finally get high school behind him and work on getting into NYU.
"Liberal arts?" Hiro suggested.
"How'd you guess," Jack grinned. There was also the Oregon portion of the trip to discuss, and whether or not they thought the family of Arborpaths would really be willing to pull up roots (ha! Because they could make plants grow!) and come to New York for a summer to see Hirou International in action and maybe let Mohinder do some labs.
By the time they pulled up to the Petrelli family home, it was getting dark out. Hiro had places to be; he was working his way laboriously through the Lord of the Rings in English and the New York Tolkien Society was waiting for his opinions on the latest chapter with bated breath.
"Leave me here, I'll scrounge dinner," Jack said, noticing that Simon was sitting on the porch and arguing furiously with Peter. "Catch you tomorrow, huh? Doctor Who marathon on Sci-Fi!"
Hiro gave him a thumbs up and pulled away.
"Debriefing time," Jack said quietly.
"You tell it," Claire said.
"No, you can if you want."
"My gift to you," she said, and smiled at him again.
"Because you're a fucking idiot, that's why!" Simon's voice drifted down from the porch.
"Are we interrupting?" Claire asked, climbing the steps. Both men stood, startled, and glanced at each other. "Lover's spat?"
"Listen, will you tell him -- " "Claire, I ask you -- "
"God, boys," Claire said, sitting down on the railing. "Simon tells Peter he's a moron, Peter tells Simon he's an asshole, and tomorrow you'll go throw bricks at each other or something until you reach a compromise you could get to in two minutes if you didn't have some repressed urge to hit each other until you bleed."
Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. Simon scowled.
"So, debriefing?" Jack said cheerfully.
"Arborpaths, go," Simon ordered.
"whole family. Two parents, an uncle, and three kids. Youngest one is about ten, not showing yet, probably will soon. They don't need much help, they're farmers, so they've got a built-in excuse for all the plant life around. Good people."
"You gave them all the contact information?"
"They said they'll think about it. You may want to go out and visit."
"Short report. Like that," Simon said.
"Well..."
Simon crossed his arms. "Well?"
"There was this dude," Jack started. "I picked up on him in Portland. I mean -- he's one of those, you know, he could really, really use some help."
"What's his story?"
"Talks to cats. He's got about fifteen of 'em."
Simon's lips twitched. "He talks to cats."
"Yeah."
"Do they talk back?"
"Cats aren't that bright, apparently. They do what he tells them, though," Jack said. "Seriously, I think you should -- "
"He stabbed Jack," Claire blurted.
"Dude, I thought I was telling this," Jack said.
"Well, he's not obviously bleeding," Peter pointed out.
"You keep your trap shut, I'm not done with you," Simon said. "How'd it happen?"
"It was...really cool, actually," Jack said.
"Cool." Simon repeated. "You were stabbed by a man who talks to cats and that was...cool."
"Well, okay, it was like this, see, we went there, and we were all, hi, we're special and you are too, wanna talk about it, whoa you got a lot of cats," Jack said, talking fast because if he didn't, Simon was going to make fun of him. "So Claire was all, I'll look around and I was like, I'll go talk to you in the kitchen, how ya doing dude, I find stuff, what's your special power, the usual, and he was like, chopping up meat."
"For the cats," Claire added.
"And okay, maybe I got a little enthusiastic," Jack admitted. "I suck at the soft sell, you know that."
"That's why she goes with you, because she's smarter'n you," Simon said ominously.
"So he was like, no, no, no, stop talking, just leave me alone with the cats, they're very quiet, and I said okay and I was going to go and then whammo! Butcher knife! IN THE RIBS!"
Jack pulled up his shirt to show off. Peter and Simon bent over to examine the wound.
"Can I?" Peter asked, and Jack nodded. He prodded Jack's ribs, studying the straight, tidy, four-inch scar on his right side. It wasn't much more than a raised white line. "This is old."
"No, that's the great part!" Jack let his shirt drop. "I went over flat and all the cats went RAWR and the dude locked himself in his bathroom. So there I am, bleeding on the floor, and Claire," he said, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her against his hip, "pulls the knife out, shoves her fingers in, and stops the bleeding. Just like that."
Simon raised his eyebrows at Claire.
"Well, it didn't hit any organs," she said. "It wasn't anything great or anything."
"It was pretty great to the dude bleeding to death on a floor covered in cat hair," Jack said. "And then she pulled her fingers out, which, gross, and closed up the wound."
"Just like that," Simon said, looking at Claire. "Congratulations, you've just upgraded yourself from Autohealer, Claire Bennet."
She smiled. "I think I can do it again, with some practice."
"Let's hope so. What's the status of cat-talker?"
"I left a card. I really do think someone should help him," Jack said earnestly.
"I'll see who we know in the area."
"Hey," Peter said, suddenly. He looked back and forth between Jack and Claire.
"Um, that's the other thing," Claire said. "Not like, company business."
"You're dating," Peter said to Jack.
"You're fourteen," Simon said to Peter.
"We're trying it out," Claire told them both.
"Yeah, I can smell the hormones from here," Simon replied. "Run on in, you're expected. And your mum says breakfast with her and Bennet tomorrow morning or you're disowned!" he called after her, as she ran into the house to say hello to Nathan and Heidi. Jack loitered on the porch, nervously. Nathan still looked at him sometimes in ways that made him fear for his life.
Simon followed her inside, giving Peter a significant look that Jack couldn't interpret -- telepathy sometimes ticked him off, because he could never tell when people were talking.
"Hey," Peter said, looking worried. "Listen, about you and Claire..."
"I'm pretty sure Nathan's gonna threaten me, so you don't have to if you don't want to," Jack said.
"No! No, it's just..." Peter rubbed the back of his head. "Is it real? Not for you, I know it's real for you. It's just...don't get too attached if you don't think Claire's into this."
"Worried about me?" Jack asked, grinning.
"Sorta."
Jack chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. "Getting stabbed might be the best thing that ever happened to me. I mean...I was lying there, and I felt her hand in my ribcage, you know, I felt her touch my actual rib bone. And her face was like...I dunno. She looked scared and upset and like she was finding something out she didn't know before. And then later she said, she was really scared I was gonna die. She said she didn't want to think about me not being there anymore. And other stuff, private stuff, you know."
"You don't think it might not just be fear? Or guilt?"
"Could be," Jack shrugged. "I'd like to think it's destiny."
"I thought you gave up on destiny."
"Yeah, well, almost dying changes your mind about a few things."
Peter studied him. "You're too old, Jack."
"I'm eighteen."
"Not in your head. In your head I think you're about ten years older than Simon."
Jack smiled. "Don't tell anyone."
"Our secret. What about Claire?"
"She's in New York for at least another year, that's enough time for us to sort ourselves out. And I'm not going anywhere. Not without her, anyway."
"Are you comin' or what?" Simon asked, leaning out the door. Jack passed into the house, Peter following, and went to stand at Claire's side where she was talking to Nathan, one of her brothers clinging to her leg affectionately.
SIX YEARS LATER
PETER PETRELLI AND SIMON PORTER - HIROU INTERNATIONAL HEAD OFFICE
Peter finds himself one day, with no urgent telephone calls and no meetings, no place he has to be.
He leaves his desk in the office and walks out into the corridor, turning left into the gallery. Isaac's paintings are hung here, none of them on frames, all casually tacked to the wall with pins or tape. The more disturbing ones have been rolled up and set aside, but there are still a lot here. On one side, the ones that are yet to happen, some which may never happen now. On the other, the ones that have come true. He drifts a hand along them -- Claire in scrubs, smiling; a baby girl they've just identified as Hope Parkman; Nathan sitting in a hospital bed, wrapped in clean white bandages; Mohinder's wedding.
He passes the wall where the door used to be, the one leading to the room Isaac killed himself in. There's a cold space there -- Telepaths and Precogs feel it strongest. It's no secret that the walled-off room exists; it's just not something they talk much about. In front of the place where the door was is Isaac's last painting, OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL HOPE. Which is a promise: never again another suicide. Never again another death on their heads.
At the end of the gallery he can hear voices; Simon discontented with something, Micah's rebellious cracking teenage voice in reply. Simon is always discontented with something. Otherwise he wouldn't be Simon.
Peter stands in the doorway to the open, airy room, lit by high windows, filled with electronic odds and ends. Micah is sitting in front of some machine only he knows the purpose of, arms crossed over his chest.
"Hey," Peter says. "Take a break. Get a sandwich or something, kid."
"Not until he gets this," Simon replies. Micah snorts.
"Come on, lay off him," Peter says. He wonders, for the first time in ages, when he started being able to talk to Simon like that. "I want you for an hour or two."
"Fine. We'll get nothing done this way anyway," Simon relents. "But I've got my eye on you, Sanders."
Micah gives Peter a grateful look and heads out another door, down towards the poky little kitchen. Peter gestures with his head, and Simon joins him in the gallery.
"It's about the genetics lab," Peter says, as they walk.
"You took me off teaching to talk to me about Suresh?" Simon sounds annoyed.
"I'm a little worried about him. He's working too hard. He keeps saying he's close to decoding it, but he's been sleeping here the last two nights. I'm not concerned about speed, I want good solid repeatable results. I want you to talk to him."
"For the love a' fuckin' God, Peter."
"You asked me to tell you this kind of thing. I'm telling you. You're both obsessives, he'll listen to you."
Even now, Simon doesn't let his barriers down very often. Peter's never been able to touch his mind without his permission, not that he'd try. Still, there is a kinship between the only two Empaths still living -- the only two who've been found, at any rate, despite Jack and Hiro's efforts. Peter doesn't need the often-too-intimate telepathic link to know what Simon is thinking. He's already turning things over in his mind, trying out various approaches to toning down Mohinder's urgent zeal.
They leave the building entirely, emerging from the corridor into a roasting, sunlit gravel lot outside the old warehouse. Nearby, Dylan is working in the welding tent, using two fingers of one hand and feeding wire with the other to meld two pieces of carefully-trimmed metal together.
"I hate summer," Simon observes, apropos of nothing. "And I hate having to beat sense into people old enough to know better."
Peter can feel heavy weights on his mind. Money, of course, ever since Simon told Linderman to take his ten year plan and do anatomically impossible things with it. Social services has been sniffing around about the "homeschooling" Micah and the other kids are getting. Jessica's been seen in Georgia again, and Peter sleeps uneasily when he thinks about Jessica too much. He knows Nathan does too; he knows Nathan thinks about Jessica every time he sees the scars in the mirror. They've never managed to catch her. Peter worries about what will happen when they do, because he isn't sure he'd be able to turn her over to the police without maiming her first, even now.
He's tired, too. Claire's in her third year of med school and having trouble, so she calls him most nights to try and talk her way through it. Sometimes he thinks he and Jack are the only things anchoring her. Even Jack can't always help; he disappears for days at a time, Finding, and only answers Claire's calls. Simon swears every time that he's going to put a tracking collar on the kid. Peter knows it's his way of worrying, because Jack was his student too, and going alone is dangerous. Simon is good at the teaching part -- he's not quite so good at the "letting go" part.
Simon on his own requires a lot of management. If Peter let him, he'd sleep two hours a night and eat on alternate days and never, ever go to any of the meetings.
Peter knows, though, that this is what he was aching for when he spent all that time training to heal people. This is what he wanted when he leapt off that building and Nathan caught him. This is changing the world, not in big leaps, not in single steps, but at a steady run.
"Well, no rest for the wicked," Simon says, and he turns to go.
"Stop," Peter answers, feeling deja-vu that is not quite deja-vu. Simon hesitates. "Close your eyes."
Simon knows better by now than to question Peter, not when his voice sounds like that. Peter closes his own eyes and lifts his face to the sky. Next to him, Simon is doing the same.
The two Empaths stand together in the warm summer sun, soaking up the heat. Dylan stops welding and glances at them, then closes his eyes as well. Micah brushes past, running out into the lot, laughing at something someone inside just said. There are voices inside, distant, raised in discussion. A lot of voices. The company gets bigger every day.
"I dreamed about this," Peter says. "I had a dream. I remember."
"So did I," Simon answers.
"And?"
"I was frightened."
Peter opens his eyes and looks at Simon. "Why?"
Simon shrugs, watching Micah as the boy wanders over to inspect Dylan's work. Dylan is an Irishman, a gifted sculptor who was working in a car manufacturing plant until Hiro found him. Now he spends his days building beautiful things. He's utterly useless to Hirou International, but what does that matter? He makes people happy. Last week Nathan unveiled one of his sculptures as a gift to the city. Which is a political move, because next week Nathan's declaring his candidacy for president, but what does that matter either? He has Peter's vote. With Nathan in the White House, they could go public. They could show the world what they do, and maybe it won't be so afraid of the help they can offer.
"I didn't believe anything could be this good," Simon answers his half-forgotten question.
"You were a cynic."
"Am a cynic. That's why I'm the boss and you're -- "
"Your watchdog." Peter interrupts before Simon can call him a pain in the arse again. "But it is good, isn't it?"
"SIMON!" Christophe calls from inside. Peter smiles; he never thought he'd hear the soft-spoken Haitian shout. Amy's been good for him. "PARKMAN IS ON THE PHONE!"
"IN A BLOODY MINUTE!" Simon calls back. He glances at Peter.
"If you want a benediction, see a priest," he suggests. "I've got work to do."
He ruffles Peter's hair as he walks inside, and Peter lets him do it. Dylan returns to his work and Micah disappears around the corner, probably off to the workshop to tinker with his computers.
"OI! PETRELLI! YOU'RE WANTED TOO!" Simon's voice drifts out through the doorway.
"Yes, I am," Peter murmurs, and turns to go inside.
THE BEGINNING.
Deleted Scenes
"Throwing Bricks At One Another"
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Six weeks, six months, and six years at a steady run: Hope is born, corndogs are consumed, baseball is played, congressmen are shot, boy gets girl (and a stab wound), Empaths become friends, life isn't perfect, life is good, life goes on.
Originally posted 4.20.07
ISAAC MENDEZ - UNDATED PAINTING
SIX WEEKS LATER
JACK, SIMON, AND MIKEY - DAYTON, OHIO
Corndogs were one of the finest achievements, in Simon's opinion, of the culinary arts.
Really. A sausage, battered in cornmeal and fried in fat. And when you were done you had a stick you could poke people with. Corndogs. Absolutely amazing things.
Jack elbowed him in the ribs. Simon did not take naturally to Jack, but he was trying, so he let that go and finished chewing, shoving the stick in his pocket.
"There he is," Jack said, pointing to a boy in a baseball uniform, stretching and cracking his neck as he walked towards the locker rooms, leaving behind a knot of excited teammates and underdressed cheerleaders. "HEY! MIKEY!"
The boy turned his head and then broke into a run, skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust and gravel. "Jack! Hi!"
"Careful," Jack said, wincing as they shook hands. Mikey beamed at him.
"How are you? How'd it go in New York? Who's the dude?" he asked, breathlessly.
Teenagers. If you gave him a choice between teenagers and corndogs, Simon knew immediately which he would pick.
"Mr. Porter, this is Mikey. Mikey, this is Simon Porter."
"That's all right," Simon said, declining to shake as Mikey put his hand out. "Heard a lot about you, Mikey."
"From Jack? There isn't much to say really," Mikey said shyly.
"Mr. Porter's been training me," Jack continued. "He wanted to come meet you."
"That I did. I hear you're the lad who lifts SUVs for fun."
Mikey grinned. "Did you see the game?"
"It was great," Jack said. "Hey, you got a minute?"
"Sure, what's up?" Mikey waved as a few of his teammates walked past.
"Mr. Porter's pretty interested in people like us," Jack said. "He runs this whole company, well, we're just starting up, that helps people. We were kinda wondering if you wanted in."
Mikey's brow furrowed. "Like...a job?"
"Sorta more like summerschool. Only not," Jack added quickly, glancing at Simon, who said nothing. The kid had to learn how to do this on his own sometime. "We want you to come to New York for a while and show off what you can do. Like a sports clinic. And maybe learn a few things about controlling it and stuff."
Mikey scratched his neck. "When?"
"Whenever you want. Or..."
"Hirou International has an educational fund," Simon stepped in, saving Jack more awkward dancing around the subject. "We arrange scholarships for promisin' youth. S'a full-ride baseball scholarship to the school of your choice, anywhere in New York state, in return for your help."
Mikey stared at him. "That's -- wow, really?"
"Really."
"That's great! It's just..." Mikey hesitated.
"It's cool, Mikey," Jack said encouragingly.
"Well, there's this girl..."
Simon groaned inwardly. Wasn't there always.
"She wants to go to UC Davis. And there's some good baseball schools in California. New York...that's across the country."
Years ago, there would have been a bag and tag, coercion, pressure, scare tactics. Now Simon smiled tolerantly.
"It's up to you, Mikey. Here." He passed over one of his cards. Simon Porter, Managing Director, Hirou International. His number was on the back. "The offer's good as long as you're interested. And if you want to come out to New York just to see, gi' us a call. Jack'll show you round."
"Thanks. Hey, you want to come grab a bite with us, Jack? The team's cool, they'll like you."
Jack glanced at Simon, who nodded slightly. It wasn't so much granting permission; he wasn't the kid's father. It was more an encouragement to go, because a lot of things got said over a meal that couldn't be said elsewhere.
"Cool, yeah. Definitely," Jack said.
"Great. Imma go get changed, I'll be back, stay here," Mikey said. When he was gone, Jack frowned.
"I could have done it myself," he said.
"Next time, do. Don' tiptoe around it. Things go a lot faster if you're frank about 'em."
"It's harder to talk to people about it with you listening all the time."
Simon laughed. "Good, then when I shove you out of the nest to flap your little wings on your own, it'll seem easy."
***
THE PETRELLI BROTHERS - HELLO! MANHATTAN STUDIOS
"And, after the break, Senator Nathan Petrelli grants Hello! Manhattan his first public interview since the shooting that shocked New York two weeks ago. Stay tuned."
"The bandages itch," Nathan muttered to Peter.
"Don't scratch, you'll pull your mic," Peter replied.
"You're enjoying this."
"Well...yeah."
Emma, the same woman who'd interviewed him about the Superman pin, left the newsdesk and crossed over to their set, where Nathan was sitting stiffly in one of their surprisingly uncomfortable chairs.
"Ready to go?" she asked, sitting across from him.
"I'm still on drugs," Nathan told her. She laughed.
"It's okay, the bosses told me to soft-pedal you. No hard questions for the guy who just got shot," she said.
"I'll make a note to get shot before I go on Hardball," he said. "Emma, have you met Peter?"
"In the green room." She nodded at him. "Nice of you to come with your brother."
"I'm a nurse," Peter said, smiling. "It's only sensible."
"Emma, thirty seconds," someone called.
"Thanks thirty," she called back, sifting through her notes. Nathan noticed that she glanced at his lapel.
"Got it," he said, tapping the Superman pin. "Never go anywhere without it."
"A lucky charm?"
"In more ways than anyone knows."
"And back in five, four," three, two, one...
The anchor still at the newsdesk introduced them and gave a brief history of Congressman Nathan Petrelli and his campaign, including a video clip of the police entering Nathan's house the morning after the shooting. Nathan tried not to watch.
"Thanks, Rick," Emma said, turning to smile at the camera. "I'm here with Senator Nathan Petrelli and his brother, Peter Petrelli -- good morning, gentlemen."
"Good morning, Emma," Nathan said, while Peter mumbled a smiliar greeting. "Good to be back here again."
"Though under less than ideal circumstances, I take it. People are wondering how you're managing to get around so soon after a fairly serious injury."
"Well, there's a lot of work to be done," he said. "I move a little more slowly than usual, but I get everywhere I need to be."
"We're glad you could make it today. I know the details of this shooting have been very vague up until now, but a lot of people are asking -- who would want to shoot New York City's newest congressman, and why?"
"It's a hard story, and not really a happy one for anyone concerned," Nathan said. "Public figures sometimes become targets for no other reason than they are...public figures."
"Take us through events, step by step."
"I wish I could. Some things we just don't know yet. What I know, what I remember, is waking up next to my wife to find someone standing over me, holding a gun."
"That would be the woman identified in the police reports as 'Niki'."
"Yes. She was a volunteer on the campaign, not particularly one of our shining stars, but dedicated to the campaign as all our volunteers are," Nathan said. "At the time, there was a lot of work going on and it slipped through the cracks that she wasn't officially on the roster. We don't even know her last name."
Little white lies -- well, big white lies, really. But they did protect DL and Micah, and DL and Micah were worth protecting.
"I was more concerned about my family -- my first instinct was to get up and make sure my sons were safe, to put myself between the gun and my wife. I did my best to find out why Niki was there, what I could do to get her to put the gun down."
"And what did she say?"
Nathan shook his head. "I don't recall the precise words. I know the general meaning; she felt that she'd been a vital part of the campaign, and that she was being unjustly ignored now that the election was over."
"Was she?" Emma asked. Smart woman.
"Volunteers work for us on the understanding that they're working for the common good of the city. I'm very careful never to make promises I can't keep. Since the election I have hired on three or four volunteers as staff members, but that's always based on merit and passion. Niki wasn't a passionate volunteer. In fact she was a very mentally unbalanced young woman."
Emma nodded sympathetically. "Clearly. What happened next?"
"I tried to keep her calm, keep her talking, but she was angry. I wanted to find out why, to see what we could do to fix the problem..." Nathan spread his hands, trying not to wince. "I was in the middle of asking her how I could help when the gun went off."
"According to your early press release, the day after the shooting, you were shot three times."
Nathan smiled. "I think it would have been more if it weren't for Peter. I only remember the first one."
Emma looked at Peter, who looked like he wanted to hide behind his hair. Which was a difficult maneuver when it was slicked back against his head.
"Peter Petrelli, hero of the hour," she said. "Maybe the Senator ought to give you that Superman pin."
"I -- " Peter glanced at Nathan uncertainly. "It wasn't really a conscious decision. It's what you do."
"Let's hear your side of the story. As I understand it, you don't live with your brother and his wife -- why were you there that night?"
"Well, that's kind of interesting," Peter said. More interesting than anyone knew, in fact; the public probably wouldn't take too well to the idea that Peter Petrelli, Congressman Petrelli's adorable and oddly damaged younger brother, had a psychic dream and got up in the middle of the night to go stop a shooting. "That was a, what, a Thursday night?" he asked Nathan, who nodded. "I came over for dinner, we do that a lot, and I didn't want to drive home after two glasses of wine. I crashed in my old bedroom from when we were kids, they keep it for me." Peter smiled, a winning Petrelli smile. "I'm really glad I did."
"I think most of New York City is glad you did," Emma said warmly. "What happened then?"
"Oh, about midnight I woke up and heard people talking, and I thought Monty had gotten out of bed or something -- that's my nephew -- so I got up to see if everything was okay. Then I heard this...woman."
"Niki."
"Yeah. So that was -- a little weird. I went down the hall to see what was going on and then the gun went off. By the time I got there, it was just, man. I've never seen anything like that."
Also untrue, in a sense, but perhaps nuclear explosions didn't look like your brother bleeding to death in his own bed.
"I kind of...tackled her, I guess, and we fought, and the gun went under the bed -- and she went through the window," Peter said. He'd thrown her through the window, in point of fact, to keep her from getting to the gun. Throwing women through windows, however, especially when you did it with telekinesis, was not good PR.
"She got away."
"I was kinda more worried about Nathan at the time."
"Naturally."
"Yeah. Heidi was awake, of course, and she -- she's a trooper, Heidi. She was trying to stop the bleeding."
Emma consulted her notes. "Now, I see that you're a nurse, is that right?"
"That's right. So I took over and told her to call 911. Oh, we should..." Peter gestured at Nathan.
"Yes, of course," Nathan said smoothly. This part they'd rehearsed. "I've said this before, but we do especially want to say a public thank-you to the New York City metro police and the Grace Hospital paramedics who were there that night. They don't get enough thanks for the job they do. The EMTs literally saved my life on the way to the hospital."
"Peter, you rode along with them?"
"I sort of had my hand on an artery, so I had to," Peter said. "But the cops were great too, they made sure the family was safe and drove them to the hospital."
"Senator Petrelli, you were in surgery for a long time."
"About four hours. So they tell me," Nathan said. "I've been in longer meetings."
Emma laughed. "The glamorous life of a politician?"
"Well, I'd prefer the meetings to being shot."
"No doubt. What's your prognosis on recovery? You seem to be doing fairly well."
"I'm in physical therapy twice a week, that'll go on for another four weeks, and the wounds are healing. I can do everything I need to for the city, and that's what's important for me."
"Any pain?"
"Stiffness, mostly." Such a lie. In the mornings it hurt to exist.
"I see just a little bit of bandage peeking out of your collar..."
Nathan smiled and cautiously leaned forward, unbuttoning the top of his collar and pulling the shirt open a little. "No Superman suit," he quipped. "That's the first gunshot, just under my collarbone."
"And this woman has yet to be caught. How do you account for that?"
"We have a lot of people who've given descriptions of her, and the police are doing their best, but New York has eight million people in it. It's hard to find someone who doesn't want to be found. And there are theories that she committed suicide, that she might be at the bottom of the river somewhere."
"Do you believe them?"
Nathan frowned. "I hope not. I hope we can find her and get her the help she needs. This wasn't some malicious stunt or a robbery gone bad. This woman is sick, and she needs to get professional assistance. Arresting her is going to make her less of a danger to others, but once she's found, she should get psychiatric treatment."
"Very forgiving words, coming from someone in your position."
"I'm not interested in revenge. I'm interested in keeping my family safe, and representing the people of New York City."
"And Peter?" Emma said.
"Hm?" Peter said.
"Do you agree with your brother about Niki? You actually fought with her and saw what she did to your brother. Do you feel the same way?"
"Well, I um." Peter glanced at Nathan again. "It's hard to let go of wanting to see someone hurt when they've hurt your family. I still...think about it. That night, I mean. But he's the one who got shot, so if he can, I guess I can."
"I'd like to slip in a political question, if I could," Emma said, grinning slyly. "Has this incident changed your stance on gun control at all, Senator Petrelli?"
Nathan chuckled, which hurt like a motherfucker.
"I was elected on a platform that included a middle-ground constitutional policy on gun control," Nathan said. "I support the Second Amendment, though I also support the current policies in place in New York to control the sale of dangerous weapons of all types. What I am strengthening on, after this, is increased funding for mental illness awareness and treatment."
"Something I'm sure many New Yorkers will be happy to hear. That's all the time we have for now -- Senator Petrelli, Mr. Petrelli, thank you for your time. I wish you all the best in your recovery."
"Thank you, Emma."
The cameras shut off and Nathan curled forward, wrapping his arms around his ribcage.
"Senator?" Emma asked, but Peter waved her off.
"I told you not to laugh," Peter said, hands on his shoulders. "Breathe, okay?"
"I'm all right," Nathan gasped. "It happens. Might've pulled a stitch."
"Does he need anything?" one of the cameramen asked.
"He's okay, give him a minute," Peter said, and then Nathan felt Peter in his head.
Hey, remember how we worked on this? Deep breaths. Shoulders down. I got painkillers in my pocket, you can have them when we get to the car.
Nathan felt himself relax and knew that Peter was behind it, but he didn't care. Telepaths -- better than drugs.
He uncurled carefully, leaning back.
"Sorry," he said to Emma, and meant it.
"I see what you mean about taking things slow," she said.
"Can we keep this quiet?"
"Hey, you were shot two weeks ago. That's news. Two minutes of you in pain? Not news," she replied. "Do you need help? You can sit in the green room for a while if you want."
"I'm just gonna take him out to the car, get him home for a while," Peter said. Nathan stood, felt Peter steadying him, and shook Emma's hand.
"It's a real pleasure," he said.
"Anytime."
When he got to the car he passed out, and only woke up when Peter helped him up the stairs and into the house, easing him down on the sofa.
"I'm going to shoot Jessica Sanders in the head," Peter said to Nathan. "All that forgiveness crap? Is crap."
"I'll buy you the gun," Nathan agreed. Peter rubbed his shoulder, the one that hadn't had a bullet dug out of it.
"Get some rest. I got you covered." He grinned. "About time I started taking care of you."
SIX MONTHS LATER
JACK, CLAIRE, HIRO, PETER, AND SIMON - NEW YORK CITY
When Jack and Claire came through exit security at LaGuardia, Jack knew that Hiro noticed the difference right away. Jack was a touchy-feely kind of guy (well, Hiro was known to hug a few people once in a while) but he touched Claire differently now. It was just that he couldn't stop -- and she kept leaning into him and smiling at him so he knew he wasn't alone and anyway she probably didn't care that Hiro knew, because Hiro was cool about people.
"Car's this way," Hiro said, leading the way. "Look!" he added, excitement overriding curiousity. "New driver's licence."
He held up his shiny new New York driver's licence and smiled to match the picture.
"You sure it's safe to ride with you?" Jack asked.
"Safer than with you," Hiro replied. "Also, new car."
"Hey, your very own Versa!" Jack said, skimming a hand over the hood of the car. "Totally awesome."
"Corporate car," Hiro announced, climbing in. Claire took shotgun and Jack sat behind her, leaning forward to rest his chin on the shoulder of the front seat. Jack filled the car with chatter as they drove, mostly about his family in Ojai and taking the GED and how he could finally get high school behind him and work on getting into NYU.
"Liberal arts?" Hiro suggested.
"How'd you guess," Jack grinned. There was also the Oregon portion of the trip to discuss, and whether or not they thought the family of Arborpaths would really be willing to pull up roots (ha! Because they could make plants grow!) and come to New York for a summer to see Hirou International in action and maybe let Mohinder do some labs.
By the time they pulled up to the Petrelli family home, it was getting dark out. Hiro had places to be; he was working his way laboriously through the Lord of the Rings in English and the New York Tolkien Society was waiting for his opinions on the latest chapter with bated breath.
"Leave me here, I'll scrounge dinner," Jack said, noticing that Simon was sitting on the porch and arguing furiously with Peter. "Catch you tomorrow, huh? Doctor Who marathon on Sci-Fi!"
Hiro gave him a thumbs up and pulled away.
"Debriefing time," Jack said quietly.
"You tell it," Claire said.
"No, you can if you want."
"My gift to you," she said, and smiled at him again.
"Because you're a fucking idiot, that's why!" Simon's voice drifted down from the porch.
"Are we interrupting?" Claire asked, climbing the steps. Both men stood, startled, and glanced at each other. "Lover's spat?"
"Listen, will you tell him -- " "Claire, I ask you -- "
"God, boys," Claire said, sitting down on the railing. "Simon tells Peter he's a moron, Peter tells Simon he's an asshole, and tomorrow you'll go throw bricks at each other or something until you reach a compromise you could get to in two minutes if you didn't have some repressed urge to hit each other until you bleed."
Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. Simon scowled.
"So, debriefing?" Jack said cheerfully.
"Arborpaths, go," Simon ordered.
"whole family. Two parents, an uncle, and three kids. Youngest one is about ten, not showing yet, probably will soon. They don't need much help, they're farmers, so they've got a built-in excuse for all the plant life around. Good people."
"You gave them all the contact information?"
"They said they'll think about it. You may want to go out and visit."
"Short report. Like that," Simon said.
"Well..."
Simon crossed his arms. "Well?"
"There was this dude," Jack started. "I picked up on him in Portland. I mean -- he's one of those, you know, he could really, really use some help."
"What's his story?"
"Talks to cats. He's got about fifteen of 'em."
Simon's lips twitched. "He talks to cats."
"Yeah."
"Do they talk back?"
"Cats aren't that bright, apparently. They do what he tells them, though," Jack said. "Seriously, I think you should -- "
"He stabbed Jack," Claire blurted.
"Dude, I thought I was telling this," Jack said.
"Well, he's not obviously bleeding," Peter pointed out.
"You keep your trap shut, I'm not done with you," Simon said. "How'd it happen?"
"It was...really cool, actually," Jack said.
"Cool." Simon repeated. "You were stabbed by a man who talks to cats and that was...cool."
"Well, okay, it was like this, see, we went there, and we were all, hi, we're special and you are too, wanna talk about it, whoa you got a lot of cats," Jack said, talking fast because if he didn't, Simon was going to make fun of him. "So Claire was all, I'll look around and I was like, I'll go talk to you in the kitchen, how ya doing dude, I find stuff, what's your special power, the usual, and he was like, chopping up meat."
"For the cats," Claire added.
"And okay, maybe I got a little enthusiastic," Jack admitted. "I suck at the soft sell, you know that."
"That's why she goes with you, because she's smarter'n you," Simon said ominously.
"So he was like, no, no, no, stop talking, just leave me alone with the cats, they're very quiet, and I said okay and I was going to go and then whammo! Butcher knife! IN THE RIBS!"
Jack pulled up his shirt to show off. Peter and Simon bent over to examine the wound.
"Can I?" Peter asked, and Jack nodded. He prodded Jack's ribs, studying the straight, tidy, four-inch scar on his right side. It wasn't much more than a raised white line. "This is old."
"No, that's the great part!" Jack let his shirt drop. "I went over flat and all the cats went RAWR and the dude locked himself in his bathroom. So there I am, bleeding on the floor, and Claire," he said, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her against his hip, "pulls the knife out, shoves her fingers in, and stops the bleeding. Just like that."
Simon raised his eyebrows at Claire.
"Well, it didn't hit any organs," she said. "It wasn't anything great or anything."
"It was pretty great to the dude bleeding to death on a floor covered in cat hair," Jack said. "And then she pulled her fingers out, which, gross, and closed up the wound."
"Just like that," Simon said, looking at Claire. "Congratulations, you've just upgraded yourself from Autohealer, Claire Bennet."
She smiled. "I think I can do it again, with some practice."
"Let's hope so. What's the status of cat-talker?"
"I left a card. I really do think someone should help him," Jack said earnestly.
"I'll see who we know in the area."
"Hey," Peter said, suddenly. He looked back and forth between Jack and Claire.
"Um, that's the other thing," Claire said. "Not like, company business."
"You're dating," Peter said to Jack.
"You're fourteen," Simon said to Peter.
"We're trying it out," Claire told them both.
"Yeah, I can smell the hormones from here," Simon replied. "Run on in, you're expected. And your mum says breakfast with her and Bennet tomorrow morning or you're disowned!" he called after her, as she ran into the house to say hello to Nathan and Heidi. Jack loitered on the porch, nervously. Nathan still looked at him sometimes in ways that made him fear for his life.
Simon followed her inside, giving Peter a significant look that Jack couldn't interpret -- telepathy sometimes ticked him off, because he could never tell when people were talking.
"Hey," Peter said, looking worried. "Listen, about you and Claire..."
"I'm pretty sure Nathan's gonna threaten me, so you don't have to if you don't want to," Jack said.
"No! No, it's just..." Peter rubbed the back of his head. "Is it real? Not for you, I know it's real for you. It's just...don't get too attached if you don't think Claire's into this."
"Worried about me?" Jack asked, grinning.
"Sorta."
Jack chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. "Getting stabbed might be the best thing that ever happened to me. I mean...I was lying there, and I felt her hand in my ribcage, you know, I felt her touch my actual rib bone. And her face was like...I dunno. She looked scared and upset and like she was finding something out she didn't know before. And then later she said, she was really scared I was gonna die. She said she didn't want to think about me not being there anymore. And other stuff, private stuff, you know."
"You don't think it might not just be fear? Or guilt?"
"Could be," Jack shrugged. "I'd like to think it's destiny."
"I thought you gave up on destiny."
"Yeah, well, almost dying changes your mind about a few things."
Peter studied him. "You're too old, Jack."
"I'm eighteen."
"Not in your head. In your head I think you're about ten years older than Simon."
Jack smiled. "Don't tell anyone."
"Our secret. What about Claire?"
"She's in New York for at least another year, that's enough time for us to sort ourselves out. And I'm not going anywhere. Not without her, anyway."
"Are you comin' or what?" Simon asked, leaning out the door. Jack passed into the house, Peter following, and went to stand at Claire's side where she was talking to Nathan, one of her brothers clinging to her leg affectionately.
SIX YEARS LATER
PETER PETRELLI AND SIMON PORTER - HIROU INTERNATIONAL HEAD OFFICE
Peter finds himself one day, with no urgent telephone calls and no meetings, no place he has to be.
He leaves his desk in the office and walks out into the corridor, turning left into the gallery. Isaac's paintings are hung here, none of them on frames, all casually tacked to the wall with pins or tape. The more disturbing ones have been rolled up and set aside, but there are still a lot here. On one side, the ones that are yet to happen, some which may never happen now. On the other, the ones that have come true. He drifts a hand along them -- Claire in scrubs, smiling; a baby girl they've just identified as Hope Parkman; Nathan sitting in a hospital bed, wrapped in clean white bandages; Mohinder's wedding.
He passes the wall where the door used to be, the one leading to the room Isaac killed himself in. There's a cold space there -- Telepaths and Precogs feel it strongest. It's no secret that the walled-off room exists; it's just not something they talk much about. In front of the place where the door was is Isaac's last painting, OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL HOPE. Which is a promise: never again another suicide. Never again another death on their heads.
At the end of the gallery he can hear voices; Simon discontented with something, Micah's rebellious cracking teenage voice in reply. Simon is always discontented with something. Otherwise he wouldn't be Simon.
Peter stands in the doorway to the open, airy room, lit by high windows, filled with electronic odds and ends. Micah is sitting in front of some machine only he knows the purpose of, arms crossed over his chest.
"Hey," Peter says. "Take a break. Get a sandwich or something, kid."
"Not until he gets this," Simon replies. Micah snorts.
"Come on, lay off him," Peter says. He wonders, for the first time in ages, when he started being able to talk to Simon like that. "I want you for an hour or two."
"Fine. We'll get nothing done this way anyway," Simon relents. "But I've got my eye on you, Sanders."
Micah gives Peter a grateful look and heads out another door, down towards the poky little kitchen. Peter gestures with his head, and Simon joins him in the gallery.
"It's about the genetics lab," Peter says, as they walk.
"You took me off teaching to talk to me about Suresh?" Simon sounds annoyed.
"I'm a little worried about him. He's working too hard. He keeps saying he's close to decoding it, but he's been sleeping here the last two nights. I'm not concerned about speed, I want good solid repeatable results. I want you to talk to him."
"For the love a' fuckin' God, Peter."
"You asked me to tell you this kind of thing. I'm telling you. You're both obsessives, he'll listen to you."
Even now, Simon doesn't let his barriers down very often. Peter's never been able to touch his mind without his permission, not that he'd try. Still, there is a kinship between the only two Empaths still living -- the only two who've been found, at any rate, despite Jack and Hiro's efforts. Peter doesn't need the often-too-intimate telepathic link to know what Simon is thinking. He's already turning things over in his mind, trying out various approaches to toning down Mohinder's urgent zeal.
They leave the building entirely, emerging from the corridor into a roasting, sunlit gravel lot outside the old warehouse. Nearby, Dylan is working in the welding tent, using two fingers of one hand and feeding wire with the other to meld two pieces of carefully-trimmed metal together.
"I hate summer," Simon observes, apropos of nothing. "And I hate having to beat sense into people old enough to know better."
Peter can feel heavy weights on his mind. Money, of course, ever since Simon told Linderman to take his ten year plan and do anatomically impossible things with it. Social services has been sniffing around about the "homeschooling" Micah and the other kids are getting. Jessica's been seen in Georgia again, and Peter sleeps uneasily when he thinks about Jessica too much. He knows Nathan does too; he knows Nathan thinks about Jessica every time he sees the scars in the mirror. They've never managed to catch her. Peter worries about what will happen when they do, because he isn't sure he'd be able to turn her over to the police without maiming her first, even now.
He's tired, too. Claire's in her third year of med school and having trouble, so she calls him most nights to try and talk her way through it. Sometimes he thinks he and Jack are the only things anchoring her. Even Jack can't always help; he disappears for days at a time, Finding, and only answers Claire's calls. Simon swears every time that he's going to put a tracking collar on the kid. Peter knows it's his way of worrying, because Jack was his student too, and going alone is dangerous. Simon is good at the teaching part -- he's not quite so good at the "letting go" part.
Simon on his own requires a lot of management. If Peter let him, he'd sleep two hours a night and eat on alternate days and never, ever go to any of the meetings.
Peter knows, though, that this is what he was aching for when he spent all that time training to heal people. This is what he wanted when he leapt off that building and Nathan caught him. This is changing the world, not in big leaps, not in single steps, but at a steady run.
"Well, no rest for the wicked," Simon says, and he turns to go.
"Stop," Peter answers, feeling deja-vu that is not quite deja-vu. Simon hesitates. "Close your eyes."
Simon knows better by now than to question Peter, not when his voice sounds like that. Peter closes his own eyes and lifts his face to the sky. Next to him, Simon is doing the same.
The two Empaths stand together in the warm summer sun, soaking up the heat. Dylan stops welding and glances at them, then closes his eyes as well. Micah brushes past, running out into the lot, laughing at something someone inside just said. There are voices inside, distant, raised in discussion. A lot of voices. The company gets bigger every day.
"I dreamed about this," Peter says. "I had a dream. I remember."
"So did I," Simon answers.
"And?"
"I was frightened."
Peter opens his eyes and looks at Simon. "Why?"
Simon shrugs, watching Micah as the boy wanders over to inspect Dylan's work. Dylan is an Irishman, a gifted sculptor who was working in a car manufacturing plant until Hiro found him. Now he spends his days building beautiful things. He's utterly useless to Hirou International, but what does that matter? He makes people happy. Last week Nathan unveiled one of his sculptures as a gift to the city. Which is a political move, because next week Nathan's declaring his candidacy for president, but what does that matter either? He has Peter's vote. With Nathan in the White House, they could go public. They could show the world what they do, and maybe it won't be so afraid of the help they can offer.
"I didn't believe anything could be this good," Simon answers his half-forgotten question.
"You were a cynic."
"Am a cynic. That's why I'm the boss and you're -- "
"Your watchdog." Peter interrupts before Simon can call him a pain in the arse again. "But it is good, isn't it?"
"SIMON!" Christophe calls from inside. Peter smiles; he never thought he'd hear the soft-spoken Haitian shout. Amy's been good for him. "PARKMAN IS ON THE PHONE!"
"IN A BLOODY MINUTE!" Simon calls back. He glances at Peter.
"If you want a benediction, see a priest," he suggests. "I've got work to do."
He ruffles Peter's hair as he walks inside, and Peter lets him do it. Dylan returns to his work and Micah disappears around the corner, probably off to the workshop to tinker with his computers.
"OI! PETRELLI! YOU'RE WANTED TOO!" Simon's voice drifts out through the doorway.
"Yes, I am," Peter murmurs, and turns to go inside.
THE BEGINNING.
Deleted Scenes
"Throwing Bricks At One Another"
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I feel bad for Doctor Doolittle. Cats are rarely brilliant conversationalists. I'm surprised he kept it down to fifteen, though-- one unfixed queen and you can have seventeen cats inside a year (yes, my family was bad at fixing cats when I was a kid; yes, we did have nineteen cats for a while; yes, it smelled as bad as you think). But then if the cats do what you tell them to, you can probably reassure them about surgery.
Yay for everyone and for changing the world at a steady run.
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that line made me squee! (reminded me of I'll cover you, from rent. Ya know, with the whole incest thing... :D)
and Hiro reading lord of the rings!! ^_^
you, sam, are made of awesome.
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Just to clarify American political shorthand, though -- "running for Congress" and "Congressman" always refer to the House of Representatives. Nathan's a Congressman now, not a Senator.
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"Thanks thirty."
Story: My last year of high school we got a new stage manager who insisted we answer the calls that way. It got so ingrained in everyone that during an all-day senior function one of the teachers went down the hallway calling "Lunch in ten minutes!" and four or five of us instantly looked up and said "Thank you ten." We got such funny looks from everyone.
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I especially liked that you gave the Haitian a name. It bothers me that he doesn't have one in the show.
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I thought very carefully about what name to give the Haitian; I thought Christophe was nice, because it recalls St. Christopher, who carried Jesus across the river as a child. :D
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Thanks, Sam, it was a really nice ride!
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(Anonymous) 2007-04-20 05:54 pm (UTC)(link)I particularly loved the scenes between Claude and Peter, which I'm glad you kept gen. The whole students/teachers theme was probably the most touching element of this story.
I also give you a LOT of credit for not shying away from the fact that Hirou International is still going to be walking something of a moral tightrope, particularly in the scene in which Claude and Bennet find Isaac dead, and in the fact that, for at least a while, they are being backed by Linderman. Yet this time, they have each other to keep everyone honest. And of course, Claude/Simon to beat anyone who requires it with a large stick!
I could keep going on with how wonderful this was.... so I will. But only a little bit. As others have mentioned, Jack was a brilliant OC. I was especially surprised at how much I liked him given that his storyline could have become either slapstick or cheesy, but it didn't. Thank you for making him and Claire NOT come together right away, and also for keeping the relationship angst to a bare minimum.
The whole Simon Porter thing was beautifully done. The reveal just gave me chills - especially the realization that Claude had given Peter his true name (nice biblical resonances, too!).
The only thing I would have liked to see was a scene between Bennet and Nathan. You did such a brilliant job of keeping both of Claire's daddies somewhat morally gray while still leaving them firmly on the side of the angels. it would have been interesting to see their interaction.
That is just a quibble, though. Otherwise, you focused on EXACTLY the characters that I see as the emotional center of the show (plus Claude) without completely forgetting the less compelling Sanders family and Hana & Ted arc. You also integrated all of the plot lines in a truly masterful way.
Please send this in to Tim Kring! Seriously! Even if he doesn't hire you, maybe it will give him some ideas, although sadly too late for this season. Or better yet, you can write the summer continuations and send THAT into him, so maybe you would have a chance of becoming canon!
Anyway, thanks for a great ride! Keep your claws (and wits) sharp for the summer!
-Cara
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I think by nature of their existence, the heroes have to face a morally grey area, because that's the nature of secret-keeping in the spirit of self-defence. I think the difference is that Hirou is interested in educating people as people, whereas the Company was interested in studying them as experiments.
I'm really sad that no scene between Nathan and Bennet made it into the final cut, but there just didn't seem to be world enough and time. That's a very delicate, tense situation, too, and a bit hard to fathom how to treat it in light of high-drama television.
Keepin' my claws sharp for summer, never fear. :D
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Simon's cynicism rocks.
But what does Dylan do? I mean, is he just a cool person, or has he got an "ability"?
Hiro and the LotR is going to make me grin all day.
All that mental illness. Ow. (But seriously, show? Except for the part where the mirror moves differently than she does, IT'S NOT A SUPERPOWER. And having a different reflection is the dumbest power ever.) And I'm GLAD Peter has learned to be vengeful.
Also the stick left over to poke people with is chortleful.
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Dylan controls heat -- he's welding using his finger, making the wire melt with his brain rather than using a welding torch :D
I think Niki upsets a lot of people, one because her story arc is incredibly boring, and two because nobody can really figure out what her power actually is. It seems to be either superstrength that only her alter ego can use, or the ability to channel her dead sister, or I don't even know.
Apparently originally her power was going to be the ability to be in two places at once. I totally wish she'd kept that one.
Brilliant.
(Anonymous) 2007-04-20 08:13 pm (UTC)(link)What could I add to the praise for Jack? The best OC I've seen I'd say... ever. His power is amazing, and I want it... I lose everything. I can even picture almost exactly what he looks like too. I've been turned into a Jack/Claire Shipper... and he's not even Cannon.
I'm going to have to start doing fanart of him, I can see. I'll miss him when the show starts again.
Anyway, this was a great end to a great fic. Congratulations.
Oh, and, by the way... Are you English? Or English obsessed? I am, see, and you're presentation of Claude's damn good. : ) That, and you're also a fan of Black Books and Good Omens. So you match three of my top interests. Just curious.
Re: Brilliant.
I am indeed English, of a sort -- I'm a US Citizen, but I was raised in the north of England until I was 11 or 12. So I have a bit of a natural advantage in presenting things like Claude's dialect. :D
Re: Brilliant.
(Anonymous) 2007-04-20 08:33 pm (UTC)(link)Well, anyway, Congratulations on an awesome fic. I'll definitely keep checking for your next hiatus fic!
-Htw.
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(Anonymous) 2007-04-20 10:13 pm (UTC)(link)-Arimalka
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And also, I love Jack SO MUCH. Ever since he proclaimed that he was going on a walkabout, he was my favorite. His superpower is creative and awesome, and I'm really fascinated by the ways you can extrapolate from it (like finding purpose and other abstract things). I'm going to be very disappointed when Jack doesn't actually appear on the show, heh.
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But while it was all fantastic, surprisingly, what I found to be the most moving and gripping aspect of this story was the end, that was no end at all, but rather, as you stated, THE BEGINNING. The hope and possibility implied is just lovely. *grin*
So, to sum up the long and short of it, thanks for a lovely fic and I (oddly enough) eagerly look forward to this season's conclusion and the summer hiatus!
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Anyways, write some new fic soon!
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Instead of spamming every chapter will try to review everything in one comment.
Chapter 17: Oh my god. That was in every way my favourite chapter. How everything worked out, the way Peter was saved and everyone played their part in the rescue was so amazing. Oh Claude. The fact that even Sylar was redeemed to an extent. Of course Simon is Claude. You had me completely fooled, but in retrospect it should have been obvious, and that is how mysterious things work best. Linderman and Claude. Oh wow. That was absolutely perfect, oh how it ties things so well. I wish I knew more about their relationship and about Linderman's intentions, though I guess it is the mystery that surrounds him that makes him such a compelling character. Such love for Jack and Claire, poor Bennett he is so out of the loop. For someone always one step ahead to not know about New York almost exploding is pretty cool. Not sure why Mohinder suddenly has new developed powers. Aww Hiro is feeling lost, he needs to be saving the world in order to be happy and in the end he did very little, which is a bit sad. Hiro will always be my Hero.
Chapter 18. Peter and Claude are such a great team, I love them so. All their interactions sparkle, it feels like they are your favourite to write about.
Chapter 19. Finally Bennett and Claire find each other, that scene is so sweet and perfect. And hee Claude followed them. Oh so many people care about Claire and want to protect her from everyone else who also happens to care about her. Hee! The new company! With Simon in charge it will be good. Beat the bad guys at their own game, a bit like in Angel. Yay Angela! Angela, Claude and Bennett make one hell of a team. Poor Matt, he feels a bit flat to me, not that he is great in the show. Yay, he will get his wife back.
Chapter 20. Makeovers are totally cool, though I am rather partial to the non slicked back look for Peter. Yay, Hiro will save the world, and be so cute whilst doing it. The Bennetts are alife. One question however remains. Where is Mr Muggles? Oh Isaac, I couldn't really see another end for him.
Linderman and Simon. Oh wow, how much do I love that he calls him Lex! "Simon. Have you thought of us?" US?? What does that mean?
Epilogue. I love the ending. Everything, the way you see enough of the future to be content. I had almost forgotten about Jessica, the last remaining villain, I do wish she too could have been saved. I wonder why she tried to kill Nathan, because of Linderman or for her own twisted reasons. The interview was lovely.
6 years later. I have no words. Just so right.
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Oddly enough, I don't know that ANYONE suspected Simon was Claude, which was great for me because I was worried it would come as a surprise to no one. I should write more about the Linderman-Claude dynamic someday...though now that the hiatus is done there isn't much point, eh?
Oh so many people care about Claire and want to protect her from everyone else who also happens to care about her.
Which is especially funny since it's not like she's easy to kill. :D
One question however remains. Where is Mr Muggles?
I knew I forgot something! NEW RESCUE MISSION: save Mr. Muggles from the company holding cells at Primatech!
"Simon. Have you thought of us?" US?? What does that mean?
Well, it sounds rather like something an ex-lover would say, but he's just talking about, has Simon thought about the company and the people he left behind, mostly.
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(I don't know what those letters mean! :D)
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Love love love this. So very good!
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xx
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