sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-13 09:27 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-13 09:27 pm
Heroes Snippets
Title: Heroes Snippets
Rating: No more than PG-13, only for swearing.
Warnings: None.
Notes: So, I cleaned out my LJ the other day (I clean when I'm nervous) and found a whole bunch of old fic snippets I'd never got round to doing anything with. I thought I might as well archive them here. These aren't going to go any further, I think, but they were fun to write and I may as well share them, eh?
First posted 8.3.08
***
BODYSWAP FIC AHOY.
Claude was a physical kind of guy. That wasn't something he could help. It was a natural instinct to touch people, hit people, get a good fight going, hold someone close, make a little love. He was past master of the art of the affectionate shoulder-squeeze.
The problem was, some people were off-limits. They were dangerous. They couldn't be touched. Not by him, not by Bennet, not by anyone except trained medical staff when the person in question was unconscious. And Ricky was supposed to be one of those people. They'd been warned about him; he'd put someone in a coma, and that was how the Company got wind of him.
Ricky was just so good at getting under your skin, was the problem. He wasn't like most telepaths; he didn't tune into your brain like it was a radio frequency. He explored it like it was an amusement park, his own private amusement park in fact, and he was just enough of a sonofabitch to find the sewer beneath the amusement park and shovel up the shit for everyone to see. He'd been needling Claude for two days and finally Claude had brought Bennet in because nobody freaked people out like Bennet, with his glasses and his neckties and his perfectly combed hair and that little smile.
Claude didn't want to seem weak, but he didn't mind appearing to be the lesser of two evils, and if he couldn't get Ricky to behave then Ricky was due for a couple long decades in the Company's holding cells. Though to be honest at this point Claude was beginning to feel the man deserved what he got.
Then Ricky went after Bennet, and nobody went after Bennet with Claude in the room. Nobody.
"Claude," Bennet said warningly, as Claude pushed off from the wall and walked menacingly towards Ricky. "Let's not be hasty."
"Oh, I'll take my time," Claude said.
"That wasn't what I meant -- "
"Pretty little brainiac here," Claude interrupted, "Likes to poke around in our heads. Problem is, that's all you can do, isn't it, Ricky? Can't stop this," he said, kicking Ricky's feet out from under him. The man went sprawling. "Can't stop this -- " he hauled him up with one hand clenched in his Company-issue white pyjamas as Bennet came forward.
"Claude, stop before you -- "
"Can't stop this," Claude said, and went to slap the man and Bennet reached out to stop him and for a moment all three men touched.
Ricky gave a high, screaming sort of laugh.
***
When Claude woke, it took him a while to get his eyes open. It felt like a bad hangover, and a little like the one time he'd been beaten about the head by someone who definitely did not want to come quietly with them for the good of the Company.
As he opened his eyes, it dawned on him that what he was looking at was in fact not a mirror, because the other Claude lying on the medical gurney nearby didn't open its eyes when he did.
His first thought was that he was dead, there was an afterlife, and it was horrible. It was like every nightmare he'd had since his power manifested: he was stuck invisible and couldn't reappear.
Then his body groaned and pushed itself up on its elbows, and the world got very weird.
Well, more very weird than it had been, which was already quite very weird. The weirdness level of Claude's life could not be overstated.
He looked down and noticed his own hands were visible. When he tried to flip the little switch in his head that disappeared him, nothing happened. His hands were still there, still visible.
Though he didn't remember wearing a dark-blue suit today. Or how cold his ears were.
He looked at himself, sitting up and staring at his hands. He looked down at his own hands. Wedding ring. Huh.
Both men looked at each other.
"Jesus Christ," he saw himself say. Accent and everything, too. "Claude?"
"Yeah, just here," Claude said, then stopped and clicked his teeth together. New mouth. Strange accent. How twangy. American speech was so bland. "Oh, this is good."
"You're..." Bennet -- he would have to think of him as Bennet -- raised a hand. "Jesus, I told you not to touch him!"
"Yes, well, I don't always do as I'm told, in case that comes as a shock to you," Claude said, pushing himself off the bed and onto his feet. Bennet's feet. Whichever.
"You're up!" said a cheerful young doctor, walking into the room. "And how are we feeling after our little run-in with Ricky?"
***
Thompson studied both men sitting on the other side of his desk. After a second, he bowed his head and clasped his hands behind it.
"So despite the fact that you look and sound like...yourselves," he said, "Claude -- "
"Yeah," Claude said.
"You are here," Thompson pointed without looking up. "And Bennet is -- "
"Here," Bennet said. In Claude's body, with Claude's voice.
"O-kay. Well, playing punching bag with Ricky explains a few things," Thompson said. "Physical contact with certain Specials is forbidden for just this reason. You have to stop kicking people when they don't agree with you, Claude."
"Don't see why. Seems to work, nine times in ten," Claude replied.
"And then the tenth time you switch bodies with Bennet. This isn't covered in most corporate training manuals."
"Well, I say," Claude said, "that we wake Ricky up and beat him until he fixes it."
"How do you know he can? You've said yourself that a lot of it is autonomic. I don't see what evolutionary advantage rewiring someone else's brain gets you, but it did keep you from hurting him any further."
"Only because I was unconscious," Claude said grimly. He glanced at Bennet, who was staring. "What?"
"Do I sound like that?" Bennet asked, a horrified look on his (Claude's) face.
"Listen, the point is, what's he done? And how do we fix it?" Claude said.
"My guess, based on his file, is that he set up some kind of feedback loop. Neither one of you is actually in the other's bodies, but you're controlling them."
"Which is why our accents haven't swapped," Bennet said. "That's buried deep in muscle memory. Makes sense."
"And it also means..." Thompson let the sentence hang in the air. Bennet's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh -- I could..." he glanced at Claude. "How do I...?"
"Search me, mate," Claude said, and winced at how it sounded in Bennet's voice. "I always just did it."
Bennet looked down at the body he was currently inhabiting and, after a second, the body disappeared.
"That...is amazing," Bennet said.
"Thank you," Claude replied.
***
If the waitress at the cafe had been listening to the two men talk, she would have heard a very bizarre conversation.
"Sit tight?" Bennet hissed through Claude's teeth. "Are we seriously going to sit tight?"
"That's what Thompson said. How do we know there's any way of fixing this?" Claude took a bite of the enchilada on his plate. "Ricky's still unconscious."
"You'll get indigestion," Bennet said. "I always do."
"I'll risk it. Are you seriously feeding me that?" Claude asked, pointing his fork at the salad Bennet ordered.
"It'll be a nice change from the constant stream of fried food," Bennet replied.
"Oi -- " Claude stopped. "Now, see, that just sounds wrong."
"It really does," Bennet said, laughing a little. Claude tilted his head. "What?"
"Sorry, moment of..." Claude paused and adjusted his speech again. "I had a moment. It's strange to look at yourself and see someone else."
"Is it?" Bennet studied him. "I think I see what you mean."
"Hearing it is strange, too."
"What are we supposed to do when I have to go home tonight?"
"I think I know you well enough to fake you," Claude said. "I'm more worried that you can't fake me."
"Why? You're not married, you have no kids, and clearly your affair with whats-her-name -- "
"Cassie."
" -- thank you -- is over."
Claude scowled, a strange sensation using another man's face. "Someone might need to talk to me. You don't know."
"I didn't mean it like that."
Claude defiantly ate a huge bite of enchilada. He had a dim hope that they could wrap this up and swap back just in time for Bennet to get the effect of the spicy, acidic food. "I think wee Ricky set up a feedback loop."
"Don't ever use the word wee in my body again."
"He linked us up and blocked us somehow, so you're controlling my body and I'm controlling yours. It's all mental. It's not a bad tactic in evolutionary terms; in lesser animals it would confuse the hell out of them and give him time to escape. We're just a bit, a little more rational, that's all. And I do have to say that if what is required to get him to do it again is to beat the everliving crap out of him, I'm game if you are."
Claude saw his own face form a mask of indecision, tinged with dismay.
"What?"
"Do I really sound like that?" Bennet said. "Like I'm from some secret government agency that beats confessions out of people?"
"All the time, why?" Claude asked indifferently, shoveling a forkful of rice into his mouth.
"But not around the kids and Sandra."
"No, I always thought you sort of saved it up for the job. Don't tell me you didn't know you do that."
"I didn't!"
"Well, it works, so don't knock it." Claude hesitated, his fork hovering in midair. "And...well, I dunno. About the disappearing. Technically my brain's got this body so I should still be able to, but if it's hardwired into the chemistry...really, this could be a great leap forward for the Company. We'd learn a lot about how the brain works."
And suddenly cold nausea clenched his gut.
He couldn't disappear. Couldn't sneak or creep. Couldn't spy. If he couldn't disappear, he was useless. He didn't have Bennet's tactical brain or much in the way of education or any skill at all with firearms, and now he was defenceless -- vulnerable -- unprotected. He hadn't grown up with invisibility but once you had it, it was like a drug; you didn't feel complete without it. For the first time in years he had literally nowhere to hide.
"Claude?" Bennet asked carefully.
"Gonna be sick," Claude said, and bolted from the table.
***
Bennet gave him a few minutes alone in the bathroom and then joined him, leaning against the counter as he cupped water into his mouth from the sink. Even in the mirror, even trying to overcome his nausea, Claude could see the way Bennet moved his body differently -- he stood straighter, swung his arms less, kept his shoulders a little more square. Compact and efficient. And armed.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I can't disappear," Claude muttered. "I'm useless."
"You aren't useless. We're still partners."
"If I'm not special, they don't need me -- "
"Claude," Bennet said, holding out a paper towel. Claude wiped his mouth.
"Mmh?"
"M'still here," Bennet said. "I've got your back. I will protect you, okay?"
Claude gave him a bitter smile. "I'm that transparent, am I?"
"I just know you. I know how much of your head is wrapped up in what you do. We're goin' to fix this. I promise."
He touched Claude's shoulder, which must have been very strange for him. It was certainly strange for Claude.
"We'll fix this," Bennet said. "Head in the game?"
"Head in the game. Let's go," Claude replied.
***
This is from later in the story, with them having accepted their situation and traveling out of state to try and track down a new "recruit".
Bennet woke suddenly, in a cold sweat.
Both of him.
It was dark in the airplane, lights out and blinds drawn, but when he glanced across the aisle he saw another figure leaning forward, shaking its head and rubbing its eyes. For a second he thought things might actually be normal; then he saw the other man turn to face him, and Claude switched on the little overhead light.
Except it wasn't Claude. It was him.
"Shit," Claude breathed.
"Coming back to you?' Bennet called.
"Yeah. Like a truck that already hit me once," Claude answered. "Where are we? How long till we land?"
"I'm not sure. I just woke up. You need a chiropractor."
"What?"
Bennet twisted his body. Several vertebrae popped. Claude chuckled.
"Shows the bones're working," he said.
"Were you dreaming, just before you woke up?" Bennet asked.
"Think so. Something about..." Claude reached up to brush hair out of his eyes and missed. "The quays..."
"Salford Quays."
"That's the one. I went to Manchester when I took that holiday last year. Used to just be Manchester Docks when I was a kid. We played down there. Now they've gone and revitalised it. Shopping centres getting ready to open, big glass and steel buildings. Call it Salford Quays. Weird sensation, seeing it all different." Claude glanced at him. "How'd you know?"
"I was too."
"Dreaming about Salford Quays?"
"Yeah. I've never been there, I've never even heard of them."
"Well, on the bright side, it confirms my theory," he said finally. "He's linked us up."
"I wasn't really worried about your theory, Claude. What if we spend the rest of our lives like this?"
"Nobody but Thompson knows, and we're out of town for at least a few days, so no worries. We'll get it fixed."
Bennet sat back, unsatisfied. "And if we don't?"
"We will."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have a wife and -- "
"Will you please stop mentioning how I don't have anyone or anything?" Claude interrupted sharply. "I'm very aware of the fact, thanks ever so."
"I didn't mean -- "
"It's fine. You're right. You get stuck in my body forever, you're free as a bird." Claude held up his hands, linked thumbs, and flapped his fingers. "Brilliant, eh?"
Bennet looked sidelong at his partner. Well, himself, but his partner for the moment. It wasn't like Claude to be irritable, even when he had good reason. It was possible he'd brought up Claude's single status more than necessary. Thinking about it, actually, he couldn't think of anyone who would know Claude well enough to call him out if he tried to fake him. Sandra. Claire and Lyle, maybe; kids were perceptive. Himself, of course. Thompson. A few of the staff. With a company like Primatech it was natural that your friends be your workmates, but most people had families too. Lives. Claude had...well, the Bennets.
"Sorry," Claude said quietly.
"Nothing to apologise for," Bennet answered. "You're right."
***
As he slowly followed Bennet's progress by the number of doors that opened, sitting in the dark car, he felt restless. Anxious, almost, and Claude didn't get anxious. What if something did happen to Bennet? He couldn't see him, wouldn't know how to find him...
Ah. So this was what life with an invisible man was like. Thanks, God. I've learned my lesson. Can I go home now?
There was a sudden rapping noise on the window, and Claude sat up straight from his slouch, nearly banging his head.
"Fifth house down," Bennet said, getting back into the car and reappearing with a shake of his head. "Didn't need to knock, I saw him through the window."
"See? Nothing to it. How d'you want to play it?"
"Tranquilizers. I'm not going to bother talking. We'll trank him here, take him to the airport, put him on a plane."
"I sort of meant, getting to him to start with. Has he got a back door?"
"How should I know?"
"You didn't think to check? How long have we been doing this?"
"This isn't my part of the job, an' you know it."
"It is now, and until we get this unravelled," Claude said. "We have to get close enough to him to trank him without setting off any mental alarms. What're the windows like?"
"Big. Screens on most of them. None of them were open." Bennet rubbed his forehead. He glanced at Claude, who was smiling. "What?"
"Tell you what. Let's make this bastard play our game instead of his. Find the back door, the kitchen door, some door he's going to run out of. I'll go through the front and flush him at you."
A slow, carnivorous smile spread across Bennet's face, and again Claude had that sense of not-quite-reality. Matching smiles, yes, but on the wrong faces.
"Let's nail him," Claude said.
In this snippet, Claire and Jack meet Jack's family, on their way through California after the action of The Hiatus Continuations.
"I need flashcards," Claire said.
"You'll be fine," Jack replied.
"They'll think I'm an idiot."
"No they won't. They're like me. Easy on the brain."
"But what if I call one of them by the wrong name?"
"It won't happen when you meet them. The only two you might mix up are the twins, and everyone does that. Just remember that June's the baby, and everything else will click into place."
"June's the baby," Claire muttered. "Okay. How much longer till we're there?"
Jack guided the car through a suburban maze not just with the ease born of being a Finder but the reflexive knowledge that comes from living your whole life in one place. He pulled around a corner, into a quiet side street, and drew the rental car up in front of a light-green house.
"We're there," he said, and smiled sidelong at her. "Ready for the fray?"
"Yeah," she sighed, and climbed out of the car.
There were three young children playing in the grass in front of the house, being watched over by a boy of about thirteen; when Jack got out of the car the boy jumped to his feet and raced across the yard.
"JACK!" he cried, throwing himself into Jack's arms. Richard, Claire thought. That was Richard, the other boy.
"Hiya, Dicks," Jack replied, hugging him and giving him a tremendous noogie.
"Jack!" the others shouted -- two little boys and a toddling girl, the twins and -- June, the baby. In moments Jack was surrounded by children, the younger ones clinging to the loops on his carpenter's shorts, Richard shoving and pummeling him affectionately.
"Hey, rugrats, wanna meet someone?" Jack said, winking at her. "This is my friend Claire. She's from Texas."
"Hi," Claire said, waving awkwardly.
"She's hot," Richard said to Jack, who smacked him in the head. "Ow!"
"Nice to meet you," Jack corrected him. Richard put out his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Claire," he said. The twins followed suit, comically imitating their older brother, and Claire shook hands all round. June stood next to Jack's legs and stared up at her, wide-eyed. Jack picked her up and held her upside down.
"What's Junebug hiding?" he asked, and she shrieked with laughter. A couple of pennies fell out of her pocket. "Pennies! Junebug, you're rich!"
"Who's that I hear?" someone bellowed from inside, and two adults appeared on the porch, a balding man with a ponytail and a woman with short, pixie-cut hair and Jack's nose.
"Mom! Dad!" Jack set June back on her feet and met his parents halfway, hugging his mother on the lawn and then giving his father the traditional manly one-armed hug. "Hi!"
"You look good," his father said, holding him at arm's length. "New York treating you well?"
"Yeah, I'm having a great time. Oh! Hey, this is Claire, I told you about her, we work together," Jack said, gesturing for Claire to join them.
"Pleasure," his father said, shaking her hand. "Any friend of Jack's."
Claire turned to Jack's mother and found herself engulfed in a hug.
"Thanks for looking after our boy," his mother said.
"Mom!" Jack scolded.
"Well, clearly someone was," she replied, not at all embarrassed.
"Where's Amy at?"
"Dance practice. Come inside, you'll be hungry. What time did you leave New York this morning?"
"Round eight," Jack replied, gesturing for Claire to go ahead of him. When she looked behind, the twins were both holding one hand and June was holding the other, trying to keep up on short legs.
They led her through a foyer decorated with batik'd fabric and old movie posters, into a dining room with an enormous table, littered in school supplies. The twins promptly sat down at one corner and began spilling their bags out, rifling through the papers for their homework. Jack set June on another corner, letting her swing her legs in empty space, and sat down next to her, so Claire sat next to him. Jack's mother took the opposite side while Jack's father disappeared into the cluttered kitchen.
"Jack's told us all about you, Claire," his mother said with a smile. "Being interns together at that corporation, I mean. And you being from Texas. I hope you're not a Republican."
"Mom!"
"Just asking, hon."
"I'm too young to vote," Claire said shyly.
"Nobody's too young to change the world," Richard said, flopping down across from Jack. "That's what Dad says."
"He's right," Claire agreed.
"And he has sandwiches!" Jack's father announced, carrying a platter of sandwiches (crusts cut off) into the room. He set them down on the middle of the table and every child in the household immediately grabbed one; Jack, moving faster than Claire, snagged two and offered one to her. She ate it gratefully; they'd only had snacks on the plane.
"Now," his father said, sitting down next to his mother. "How long are you staying? Not long, I understand."
"Mmf," Jack said, around a mouthful of food. "Well, tomorrow I have the GED and day after I thought I'd show Claire the sights, and then we're going to drive up the Pacific Coast Highway to Oregon, fly back from there. So I thought -- Dicks, when's your next game?"
"Day after tomorrow," Richard answered.
"What do you play?" Claire asked, interested.
"Baseball n football n soccer," Dicks replied. "Right now it's football though."
"Richard is the athlete," his mother said proudly.
"I used to be a cheerleader," Claire offered, feeling a little pathetic. "My brother plays football, Varsity this year."
"Cool!"
"So, we could go to his game, and then take off in the morning. Whoa, Junebug," Jack said, as June inched towards the edge of the table. "You want down?"
June nodded, clutching her brother's arm as he lifted her to the floor. She crawled up into his lap.
Claire watched and listened, mostly, while Jack talked to his parents and occasionally fired a question at his younger brothers, one hand firmly holding June in his lap, the other holding his sandwich. It certainly wasn't like her family -- messier, louder, less concerned with the conventions of conversation -- but underneath it was just the same, in a way. Parents loving their kids and trying to do right by them, some of the kids already growing into adulthood, and Jack, hiding a secret from them, just like she hid from hers.
"We've made up a spare room for you, Claire," his father said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "and please take free run of the kitchen. Just don't eat the roast, that's for dinner tomorrow."
"Come on, I'll show you around," Jack said, swinging June to the floor and standing up.
***
There were no official bedtimes in the Baker household, but all the children understood that Sleep was Important to Good Grades, and by nine the younger ones had gone off to bed; Dicks had appropriated Jack's old room in his absence and was probably reading or playing video games there. Jack was relegated to the big bedroom that Dicks used to share with the twins, and he decided not to bother their nocturnal comic-book reading just yet.
Instead he padded barefoot along the upper floor of the house, wandering into the bathroom that looked out over the backyard, seeing his childhood with a stranger's eyes now. Not that he felt like a stranger here at home, but it was different to go away and come back. A part of the spirit walk, maybe, not that he'd believed in the spirit walk in a long time.
He walked down the hall to his parents' bedroom, knocking on the half-open door. His mother was reading, his father watching television; after living on his own in a tiny New York apartment for so long, Jack enjoyed the domesticity of a crammed-full house.
"Hey, prodigal son," his father said, grinning. "How're the twins?"
Jack smiled. "They're reading. Hey, I need to talk to you guys for a minute."
"Pull up a blanket," his mother said, patting the bed. Jack sat at the foot, crossing his legs. For someone who was genetically capable of knowing where everything was at any given time, it was hard to find the words to talk to his parents about this.
"I'm kinda sorry I left so suddenly," he said. "I didn't mean to just abandon you guys."
"Baby birds leaving the nest...we've got a few eggs left," his dad said.
"Yeah, but I should have explained better. It's just -- I was going through this thing, you know?"
"Honey," his mother said. "What...I mean, we don't want to pry, but what thing? Couldn't we have helped?"
"Maybe you could have, but at the time there wasn't...I had to do some things. See...I found out I have this gift," he said. "It's not like that, you know, it's not a spiritual thing. It's genetic. So I need to tell you, 'cause it might happen to the kids as well."
"If it's some kind of disease -- "
"No, nothing like that. It's just that there are these people, more every day, and they have powers you wouldn't think people would have. Like...superhero powers. It sounds really dumb," Jack said. "But I'm one of them. I met this guy who can fly, Dad, I swear to god I saw him do it. And a woman who can heal like, instantly. And this Japanese dude who can time-travel."
He paused to gauge his parents' reactions, but they weren't looking at him; they were looking at each other.
"So these...special abilities," his father said slowly. "You have one?"
"Yeah. I can find stuff. Anything, I mean. Ask me where anything is, I totally know."
"It's okay, we believe you," his mother said.
"Do you? I mean 'cause it's important that you do and not like, humour me or something. Because if I can do stuff, then one day maybe Dicks or Amy or the little ones might. And I need to know if they do, 'cause I can help them."
They shared another significant look, which Jack finally interpreted correctly.
"Oh, crap -- " he looked at them. "Can you guys do stuff too?"
"Your mother," his father began slowly, "When we got married, explained to me that she's...a little different."
"Different?"
His mother opened her book and deliberately tore a page in half, holding it out to him, he took it, confused, studied it, gave it back. She pressed the jagged edge up against the torn page in the book, and Jack watched in delight as it reassembled itself. Then she passed him the whole book, and the page didn't even have a scar where it had been torn.
"So you see, Jack," his father said, "Your parents really do understand you."
***
Simon hung up the telephone and rubbed his eyes. Peter sat back in the chair across from him, hands laced over his stomach, ankles crossed.
"Word from Jack?" he asked, grinning a little.
"Many, many words," Simon replied, still rubbing his eyes. When everything happened, he hadn't stopped to think about what creating Hirou International would mean; it meant that his hours weren't his own anymore. People wondered where he went if he disappeared. He had to sleep nights, because he had to be awake at a decent hour to make sure everything was ticking over as it ought. And if he couldn't sleep, he still had to be there. It was exhausting, all this power.
"Can't be that bad, aren't they still in California?" Peter checked his watch. "Jeez, it's only seven am there. What's he calling you at seven in the morning for?"
"It's his mum," Simon said. Peter sat up straight, concern on his face. "No, nothing like that. She's one of us, that's all."
"But that's good -- that means his parents get it, right?"
"They've got six kids, Petrelli."
"So?"
"I want you," Simon said carefully, "to shut your eyes and think about five more Jack Bakers hangin' about the place."
Peter bit his lip to keep from smiling.
"Bugger, and I have lessons -- and Suresh is whining about something, wants me to look in on the lab," Simon said, pushing his chair back. Peter stood too, resting a hand on his arm as he passed. Simon stopped and glanced at him, eyebrows raised impatiently.
"Go on to the lab, I'll take lessons today," Peter said.
"Lab can wait."
"Yeah, but your health can't. Go to the lab, then run away for a while. Go...steal churros or whatever it is you do to relax. I'll handle the lessons."
Simon gave him a measured look, then nodded.
"Right," he said. Petrelli knew enough to handle the day's work. Micah mostly just needed supervision to make sure he didn't electrocute himself. The new girl, Belinda, was fourteen and could sculpt water like it was clay; she wore too much eyeliner, dyed her hair black, and liked Peter better anyway.
He didn't like what Peter said about running away, though. That was coming just a little too close to the truth. And the thought of five more Baker children entering Hirou's training school didn't help any.
Jack on an archaeological dig, far into the future, with Molly as his adopted daughter.
"What do you make of it?"
Jack knew exactly what to make of it, but he couldn't let on; in a way, the dig was like a Christmas present that he really wanted to give to someone right now, watch them tear into it and see the looks on their faces. Archaeology, on the other hand, was a patient science -- and Jack had become good at keeping secrets.
He studied the layer of dirt that the dig volunteers and interns had uncovered, hefting the fine thin pottery in one hand. It was out of place here, mid-eighteenth-century at the earliest.
"Trash," he said finally, squatting in the dust and sifting a handful of dirt through his fingers. "We know someone else was digging here, a century ago -- I think we've found the last dig's trash heap."
"But there's period pottery," the young woman said, looking perplexed.
"Think like a Victorian," he replied. "Think like a treasure-hunter."
The ring of faces surrounding his, listening to him, began to light up, one by one.
"They threw out whatever they didn't want," someone said.
"That's right. Okay, let's -- hm." Jack rubbed the back of his neck in thought. "Let's rope this off for the day. I'm going to recommend a special excavation. We'll dig slow and notate everything, and all the sherds go for analysis. We'll see if we can't untangle their stuff from the real stuff. I -- "
"JACK!" Elizabeth called. Jack looked up, raising his head above the ridge of the site. "COME UP! Someone to see you!"
He hoisted himself up to the ground-level and took off his hat, using it to beat the dirt out of his khakis. When he looked up, there was an ancient jeep parked near the sifting tent. He shaded his eyes, then broke into a run. A thin, slight figure ran forward as well, and Jack met her halfway, lifting her up and swinging her around in the air.
"Molly!" he said, laughing. He set her down on the hardpan and whacked her on the shoulder with his hat. "Look at you, my big girl. Where's -- "
He looked up then, and saw the other person standing next to the jeep.
In three steps he'd covered the ground and reached Claire, sliding an arm around her waist and kissing her.
Rating: No more than PG-13, only for swearing.
Warnings: None.
Notes: So, I cleaned out my LJ the other day (I clean when I'm nervous) and found a whole bunch of old fic snippets I'd never got round to doing anything with. I thought I might as well archive them here. These aren't going to go any further, I think, but they were fun to write and I may as well share them, eh?
First posted 8.3.08
***
BODYSWAP FIC AHOY.
Claude was a physical kind of guy. That wasn't something he could help. It was a natural instinct to touch people, hit people, get a good fight going, hold someone close, make a little love. He was past master of the art of the affectionate shoulder-squeeze.
The problem was, some people were off-limits. They were dangerous. They couldn't be touched. Not by him, not by Bennet, not by anyone except trained medical staff when the person in question was unconscious. And Ricky was supposed to be one of those people. They'd been warned about him; he'd put someone in a coma, and that was how the Company got wind of him.
Ricky was just so good at getting under your skin, was the problem. He wasn't like most telepaths; he didn't tune into your brain like it was a radio frequency. He explored it like it was an amusement park, his own private amusement park in fact, and he was just enough of a sonofabitch to find the sewer beneath the amusement park and shovel up the shit for everyone to see. He'd been needling Claude for two days and finally Claude had brought Bennet in because nobody freaked people out like Bennet, with his glasses and his neckties and his perfectly combed hair and that little smile.
Claude didn't want to seem weak, but he didn't mind appearing to be the lesser of two evils, and if he couldn't get Ricky to behave then Ricky was due for a couple long decades in the Company's holding cells. Though to be honest at this point Claude was beginning to feel the man deserved what he got.
Then Ricky went after Bennet, and nobody went after Bennet with Claude in the room. Nobody.
"Claude," Bennet said warningly, as Claude pushed off from the wall and walked menacingly towards Ricky. "Let's not be hasty."
"Oh, I'll take my time," Claude said.
"That wasn't what I meant -- "
"Pretty little brainiac here," Claude interrupted, "Likes to poke around in our heads. Problem is, that's all you can do, isn't it, Ricky? Can't stop this," he said, kicking Ricky's feet out from under him. The man went sprawling. "Can't stop this -- " he hauled him up with one hand clenched in his Company-issue white pyjamas as Bennet came forward.
"Claude, stop before you -- "
"Can't stop this," Claude said, and went to slap the man and Bennet reached out to stop him and for a moment all three men touched.
Ricky gave a high, screaming sort of laugh.
***
When Claude woke, it took him a while to get his eyes open. It felt like a bad hangover, and a little like the one time he'd been beaten about the head by someone who definitely did not want to come quietly with them for the good of the Company.
As he opened his eyes, it dawned on him that what he was looking at was in fact not a mirror, because the other Claude lying on the medical gurney nearby didn't open its eyes when he did.
His first thought was that he was dead, there was an afterlife, and it was horrible. It was like every nightmare he'd had since his power manifested: he was stuck invisible and couldn't reappear.
Then his body groaned and pushed itself up on its elbows, and the world got very weird.
Well, more very weird than it had been, which was already quite very weird. The weirdness level of Claude's life could not be overstated.
He looked down and noticed his own hands were visible. When he tried to flip the little switch in his head that disappeared him, nothing happened. His hands were still there, still visible.
Though he didn't remember wearing a dark-blue suit today. Or how cold his ears were.
He looked at himself, sitting up and staring at his hands. He looked down at his own hands. Wedding ring. Huh.
Both men looked at each other.
"Jesus Christ," he saw himself say. Accent and everything, too. "Claude?"
"Yeah, just here," Claude said, then stopped and clicked his teeth together. New mouth. Strange accent. How twangy. American speech was so bland. "Oh, this is good."
"You're..." Bennet -- he would have to think of him as Bennet -- raised a hand. "Jesus, I told you not to touch him!"
"Yes, well, I don't always do as I'm told, in case that comes as a shock to you," Claude said, pushing himself off the bed and onto his feet. Bennet's feet. Whichever.
"You're up!" said a cheerful young doctor, walking into the room. "And how are we feeling after our little run-in with Ricky?"
***
Thompson studied both men sitting on the other side of his desk. After a second, he bowed his head and clasped his hands behind it.
"So despite the fact that you look and sound like...yourselves," he said, "Claude -- "
"Yeah," Claude said.
"You are here," Thompson pointed without looking up. "And Bennet is -- "
"Here," Bennet said. In Claude's body, with Claude's voice.
"O-kay. Well, playing punching bag with Ricky explains a few things," Thompson said. "Physical contact with certain Specials is forbidden for just this reason. You have to stop kicking people when they don't agree with you, Claude."
"Don't see why. Seems to work, nine times in ten," Claude replied.
"And then the tenth time you switch bodies with Bennet. This isn't covered in most corporate training manuals."
"Well, I say," Claude said, "that we wake Ricky up and beat him until he fixes it."
"How do you know he can? You've said yourself that a lot of it is autonomic. I don't see what evolutionary advantage rewiring someone else's brain gets you, but it did keep you from hurting him any further."
"Only because I was unconscious," Claude said grimly. He glanced at Bennet, who was staring. "What?"
"Do I sound like that?" Bennet asked, a horrified look on his (Claude's) face.
"Listen, the point is, what's he done? And how do we fix it?" Claude said.
"My guess, based on his file, is that he set up some kind of feedback loop. Neither one of you is actually in the other's bodies, but you're controlling them."
"Which is why our accents haven't swapped," Bennet said. "That's buried deep in muscle memory. Makes sense."
"And it also means..." Thompson let the sentence hang in the air. Bennet's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh -- I could..." he glanced at Claude. "How do I...?"
"Search me, mate," Claude said, and winced at how it sounded in Bennet's voice. "I always just did it."
Bennet looked down at the body he was currently inhabiting and, after a second, the body disappeared.
"That...is amazing," Bennet said.
"Thank you," Claude replied.
***
If the waitress at the cafe had been listening to the two men talk, she would have heard a very bizarre conversation.
"Sit tight?" Bennet hissed through Claude's teeth. "Are we seriously going to sit tight?"
"That's what Thompson said. How do we know there's any way of fixing this?" Claude took a bite of the enchilada on his plate. "Ricky's still unconscious."
"You'll get indigestion," Bennet said. "I always do."
"I'll risk it. Are you seriously feeding me that?" Claude asked, pointing his fork at the salad Bennet ordered.
"It'll be a nice change from the constant stream of fried food," Bennet replied.
"Oi -- " Claude stopped. "Now, see, that just sounds wrong."
"It really does," Bennet said, laughing a little. Claude tilted his head. "What?"
"Sorry, moment of..." Claude paused and adjusted his speech again. "I had a moment. It's strange to look at yourself and see someone else."
"Is it?" Bennet studied him. "I think I see what you mean."
"Hearing it is strange, too."
"What are we supposed to do when I have to go home tonight?"
"I think I know you well enough to fake you," Claude said. "I'm more worried that you can't fake me."
"Why? You're not married, you have no kids, and clearly your affair with whats-her-name -- "
"Cassie."
" -- thank you -- is over."
Claude scowled, a strange sensation using another man's face. "Someone might need to talk to me. You don't know."
"I didn't mean it like that."
Claude defiantly ate a huge bite of enchilada. He had a dim hope that they could wrap this up and swap back just in time for Bennet to get the effect of the spicy, acidic food. "I think wee Ricky set up a feedback loop."
"Don't ever use the word wee in my body again."
"He linked us up and blocked us somehow, so you're controlling my body and I'm controlling yours. It's all mental. It's not a bad tactic in evolutionary terms; in lesser animals it would confuse the hell out of them and give him time to escape. We're just a bit, a little more rational, that's all. And I do have to say that if what is required to get him to do it again is to beat the everliving crap out of him, I'm game if you are."
Claude saw his own face form a mask of indecision, tinged with dismay.
"What?"
"Do I really sound like that?" Bennet said. "Like I'm from some secret government agency that beats confessions out of people?"
"All the time, why?" Claude asked indifferently, shoveling a forkful of rice into his mouth.
"But not around the kids and Sandra."
"No, I always thought you sort of saved it up for the job. Don't tell me you didn't know you do that."
"I didn't!"
"Well, it works, so don't knock it." Claude hesitated, his fork hovering in midair. "And...well, I dunno. About the disappearing. Technically my brain's got this body so I should still be able to, but if it's hardwired into the chemistry...really, this could be a great leap forward for the Company. We'd learn a lot about how the brain works."
And suddenly cold nausea clenched his gut.
He couldn't disappear. Couldn't sneak or creep. Couldn't spy. If he couldn't disappear, he was useless. He didn't have Bennet's tactical brain or much in the way of education or any skill at all with firearms, and now he was defenceless -- vulnerable -- unprotected. He hadn't grown up with invisibility but once you had it, it was like a drug; you didn't feel complete without it. For the first time in years he had literally nowhere to hide.
"Claude?" Bennet asked carefully.
"Gonna be sick," Claude said, and bolted from the table.
***
Bennet gave him a few minutes alone in the bathroom and then joined him, leaning against the counter as he cupped water into his mouth from the sink. Even in the mirror, even trying to overcome his nausea, Claude could see the way Bennet moved his body differently -- he stood straighter, swung his arms less, kept his shoulders a little more square. Compact and efficient. And armed.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I can't disappear," Claude muttered. "I'm useless."
"You aren't useless. We're still partners."
"If I'm not special, they don't need me -- "
"Claude," Bennet said, holding out a paper towel. Claude wiped his mouth.
"Mmh?"
"M'still here," Bennet said. "I've got your back. I will protect you, okay?"
Claude gave him a bitter smile. "I'm that transparent, am I?"
"I just know you. I know how much of your head is wrapped up in what you do. We're goin' to fix this. I promise."
He touched Claude's shoulder, which must have been very strange for him. It was certainly strange for Claude.
"We'll fix this," Bennet said. "Head in the game?"
"Head in the game. Let's go," Claude replied.
***
This is from later in the story, with them having accepted their situation and traveling out of state to try and track down a new "recruit".
Bennet woke suddenly, in a cold sweat.
Both of him.
It was dark in the airplane, lights out and blinds drawn, but when he glanced across the aisle he saw another figure leaning forward, shaking its head and rubbing its eyes. For a second he thought things might actually be normal; then he saw the other man turn to face him, and Claude switched on the little overhead light.
Except it wasn't Claude. It was him.
"Shit," Claude breathed.
"Coming back to you?' Bennet called.
"Yeah. Like a truck that already hit me once," Claude answered. "Where are we? How long till we land?"
"I'm not sure. I just woke up. You need a chiropractor."
"What?"
Bennet twisted his body. Several vertebrae popped. Claude chuckled.
"Shows the bones're working," he said.
"Were you dreaming, just before you woke up?" Bennet asked.
"Think so. Something about..." Claude reached up to brush hair out of his eyes and missed. "The quays..."
"Salford Quays."
"That's the one. I went to Manchester when I took that holiday last year. Used to just be Manchester Docks when I was a kid. We played down there. Now they've gone and revitalised it. Shopping centres getting ready to open, big glass and steel buildings. Call it Salford Quays. Weird sensation, seeing it all different." Claude glanced at him. "How'd you know?"
"I was too."
"Dreaming about Salford Quays?"
"Yeah. I've never been there, I've never even heard of them."
"Well, on the bright side, it confirms my theory," he said finally. "He's linked us up."
"I wasn't really worried about your theory, Claude. What if we spend the rest of our lives like this?"
"Nobody but Thompson knows, and we're out of town for at least a few days, so no worries. We'll get it fixed."
Bennet sat back, unsatisfied. "And if we don't?"
"We will."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have a wife and -- "
"Will you please stop mentioning how I don't have anyone or anything?" Claude interrupted sharply. "I'm very aware of the fact, thanks ever so."
"I didn't mean -- "
"It's fine. You're right. You get stuck in my body forever, you're free as a bird." Claude held up his hands, linked thumbs, and flapped his fingers. "Brilliant, eh?"
Bennet looked sidelong at his partner. Well, himself, but his partner for the moment. It wasn't like Claude to be irritable, even when he had good reason. It was possible he'd brought up Claude's single status more than necessary. Thinking about it, actually, he couldn't think of anyone who would know Claude well enough to call him out if he tried to fake him. Sandra. Claire and Lyle, maybe; kids were perceptive. Himself, of course. Thompson. A few of the staff. With a company like Primatech it was natural that your friends be your workmates, but most people had families too. Lives. Claude had...well, the Bennets.
"Sorry," Claude said quietly.
"Nothing to apologise for," Bennet answered. "You're right."
***
As he slowly followed Bennet's progress by the number of doors that opened, sitting in the dark car, he felt restless. Anxious, almost, and Claude didn't get anxious. What if something did happen to Bennet? He couldn't see him, wouldn't know how to find him...
Ah. So this was what life with an invisible man was like. Thanks, God. I've learned my lesson. Can I go home now?
There was a sudden rapping noise on the window, and Claude sat up straight from his slouch, nearly banging his head.
"Fifth house down," Bennet said, getting back into the car and reappearing with a shake of his head. "Didn't need to knock, I saw him through the window."
"See? Nothing to it. How d'you want to play it?"
"Tranquilizers. I'm not going to bother talking. We'll trank him here, take him to the airport, put him on a plane."
"I sort of meant, getting to him to start with. Has he got a back door?"
"How should I know?"
"You didn't think to check? How long have we been doing this?"
"This isn't my part of the job, an' you know it."
"It is now, and until we get this unravelled," Claude said. "We have to get close enough to him to trank him without setting off any mental alarms. What're the windows like?"
"Big. Screens on most of them. None of them were open." Bennet rubbed his forehead. He glanced at Claude, who was smiling. "What?"
"Tell you what. Let's make this bastard play our game instead of his. Find the back door, the kitchen door, some door he's going to run out of. I'll go through the front and flush him at you."
A slow, carnivorous smile spread across Bennet's face, and again Claude had that sense of not-quite-reality. Matching smiles, yes, but on the wrong faces.
"Let's nail him," Claude said.
In this snippet, Claire and Jack meet Jack's family, on their way through California after the action of The Hiatus Continuations.
"I need flashcards," Claire said.
"You'll be fine," Jack replied.
"They'll think I'm an idiot."
"No they won't. They're like me. Easy on the brain."
"But what if I call one of them by the wrong name?"
"It won't happen when you meet them. The only two you might mix up are the twins, and everyone does that. Just remember that June's the baby, and everything else will click into place."
"June's the baby," Claire muttered. "Okay. How much longer till we're there?"
Jack guided the car through a suburban maze not just with the ease born of being a Finder but the reflexive knowledge that comes from living your whole life in one place. He pulled around a corner, into a quiet side street, and drew the rental car up in front of a light-green house.
"We're there," he said, and smiled sidelong at her. "Ready for the fray?"
"Yeah," she sighed, and climbed out of the car.
There were three young children playing in the grass in front of the house, being watched over by a boy of about thirteen; when Jack got out of the car the boy jumped to his feet and raced across the yard.
"JACK!" he cried, throwing himself into Jack's arms. Richard, Claire thought. That was Richard, the other boy.
"Hiya, Dicks," Jack replied, hugging him and giving him a tremendous noogie.
"Jack!" the others shouted -- two little boys and a toddling girl, the twins and -- June, the baby. In moments Jack was surrounded by children, the younger ones clinging to the loops on his carpenter's shorts, Richard shoving and pummeling him affectionately.
"Hey, rugrats, wanna meet someone?" Jack said, winking at her. "This is my friend Claire. She's from Texas."
"Hi," Claire said, waving awkwardly.
"She's hot," Richard said to Jack, who smacked him in the head. "Ow!"
"Nice to meet you," Jack corrected him. Richard put out his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Claire," he said. The twins followed suit, comically imitating their older brother, and Claire shook hands all round. June stood next to Jack's legs and stared up at her, wide-eyed. Jack picked her up and held her upside down.
"What's Junebug hiding?" he asked, and she shrieked with laughter. A couple of pennies fell out of her pocket. "Pennies! Junebug, you're rich!"
"Who's that I hear?" someone bellowed from inside, and two adults appeared on the porch, a balding man with a ponytail and a woman with short, pixie-cut hair and Jack's nose.
"Mom! Dad!" Jack set June back on her feet and met his parents halfway, hugging his mother on the lawn and then giving his father the traditional manly one-armed hug. "Hi!"
"You look good," his father said, holding him at arm's length. "New York treating you well?"
"Yeah, I'm having a great time. Oh! Hey, this is Claire, I told you about her, we work together," Jack said, gesturing for Claire to join them.
"Pleasure," his father said, shaking her hand. "Any friend of Jack's."
Claire turned to Jack's mother and found herself engulfed in a hug.
"Thanks for looking after our boy," his mother said.
"Mom!" Jack scolded.
"Well, clearly someone was," she replied, not at all embarrassed.
"Where's Amy at?"
"Dance practice. Come inside, you'll be hungry. What time did you leave New York this morning?"
"Round eight," Jack replied, gesturing for Claire to go ahead of him. When she looked behind, the twins were both holding one hand and June was holding the other, trying to keep up on short legs.
They led her through a foyer decorated with batik'd fabric and old movie posters, into a dining room with an enormous table, littered in school supplies. The twins promptly sat down at one corner and began spilling their bags out, rifling through the papers for their homework. Jack set June on another corner, letting her swing her legs in empty space, and sat down next to her, so Claire sat next to him. Jack's mother took the opposite side while Jack's father disappeared into the cluttered kitchen.
"Jack's told us all about you, Claire," his mother said with a smile. "Being interns together at that corporation, I mean. And you being from Texas. I hope you're not a Republican."
"Mom!"
"Just asking, hon."
"I'm too young to vote," Claire said shyly.
"Nobody's too young to change the world," Richard said, flopping down across from Jack. "That's what Dad says."
"He's right," Claire agreed.
"And he has sandwiches!" Jack's father announced, carrying a platter of sandwiches (crusts cut off) into the room. He set them down on the middle of the table and every child in the household immediately grabbed one; Jack, moving faster than Claire, snagged two and offered one to her. She ate it gratefully; they'd only had snacks on the plane.
"Now," his father said, sitting down next to his mother. "How long are you staying? Not long, I understand."
"Mmf," Jack said, around a mouthful of food. "Well, tomorrow I have the GED and day after I thought I'd show Claire the sights, and then we're going to drive up the Pacific Coast Highway to Oregon, fly back from there. So I thought -- Dicks, when's your next game?"
"Day after tomorrow," Richard answered.
"What do you play?" Claire asked, interested.
"Baseball n football n soccer," Dicks replied. "Right now it's football though."
"Richard is the athlete," his mother said proudly.
"I used to be a cheerleader," Claire offered, feeling a little pathetic. "My brother plays football, Varsity this year."
"Cool!"
"So, we could go to his game, and then take off in the morning. Whoa, Junebug," Jack said, as June inched towards the edge of the table. "You want down?"
June nodded, clutching her brother's arm as he lifted her to the floor. She crawled up into his lap.
Claire watched and listened, mostly, while Jack talked to his parents and occasionally fired a question at his younger brothers, one hand firmly holding June in his lap, the other holding his sandwich. It certainly wasn't like her family -- messier, louder, less concerned with the conventions of conversation -- but underneath it was just the same, in a way. Parents loving their kids and trying to do right by them, some of the kids already growing into adulthood, and Jack, hiding a secret from them, just like she hid from hers.
"We've made up a spare room for you, Claire," his father said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "and please take free run of the kitchen. Just don't eat the roast, that's for dinner tomorrow."
"Come on, I'll show you around," Jack said, swinging June to the floor and standing up.
***
There were no official bedtimes in the Baker household, but all the children understood that Sleep was Important to Good Grades, and by nine the younger ones had gone off to bed; Dicks had appropriated Jack's old room in his absence and was probably reading or playing video games there. Jack was relegated to the big bedroom that Dicks used to share with the twins, and he decided not to bother their nocturnal comic-book reading just yet.
Instead he padded barefoot along the upper floor of the house, wandering into the bathroom that looked out over the backyard, seeing his childhood with a stranger's eyes now. Not that he felt like a stranger here at home, but it was different to go away and come back. A part of the spirit walk, maybe, not that he'd believed in the spirit walk in a long time.
He walked down the hall to his parents' bedroom, knocking on the half-open door. His mother was reading, his father watching television; after living on his own in a tiny New York apartment for so long, Jack enjoyed the domesticity of a crammed-full house.
"Hey, prodigal son," his father said, grinning. "How're the twins?"
Jack smiled. "They're reading. Hey, I need to talk to you guys for a minute."
"Pull up a blanket," his mother said, patting the bed. Jack sat at the foot, crossing his legs. For someone who was genetically capable of knowing where everything was at any given time, it was hard to find the words to talk to his parents about this.
"I'm kinda sorry I left so suddenly," he said. "I didn't mean to just abandon you guys."
"Baby birds leaving the nest...we've got a few eggs left," his dad said.
"Yeah, but I should have explained better. It's just -- I was going through this thing, you know?"
"Honey," his mother said. "What...I mean, we don't want to pry, but what thing? Couldn't we have helped?"
"Maybe you could have, but at the time there wasn't...I had to do some things. See...I found out I have this gift," he said. "It's not like that, you know, it's not a spiritual thing. It's genetic. So I need to tell you, 'cause it might happen to the kids as well."
"If it's some kind of disease -- "
"No, nothing like that. It's just that there are these people, more every day, and they have powers you wouldn't think people would have. Like...superhero powers. It sounds really dumb," Jack said. "But I'm one of them. I met this guy who can fly, Dad, I swear to god I saw him do it. And a woman who can heal like, instantly. And this Japanese dude who can time-travel."
He paused to gauge his parents' reactions, but they weren't looking at him; they were looking at each other.
"So these...special abilities," his father said slowly. "You have one?"
"Yeah. I can find stuff. Anything, I mean. Ask me where anything is, I totally know."
"It's okay, we believe you," his mother said.
"Do you? I mean 'cause it's important that you do and not like, humour me or something. Because if I can do stuff, then one day maybe Dicks or Amy or the little ones might. And I need to know if they do, 'cause I can help them."
They shared another significant look, which Jack finally interpreted correctly.
"Oh, crap -- " he looked at them. "Can you guys do stuff too?"
"Your mother," his father began slowly, "When we got married, explained to me that she's...a little different."
"Different?"
His mother opened her book and deliberately tore a page in half, holding it out to him, he took it, confused, studied it, gave it back. She pressed the jagged edge up against the torn page in the book, and Jack watched in delight as it reassembled itself. Then she passed him the whole book, and the page didn't even have a scar where it had been torn.
"So you see, Jack," his father said, "Your parents really do understand you."
***
Simon hung up the telephone and rubbed his eyes. Peter sat back in the chair across from him, hands laced over his stomach, ankles crossed.
"Word from Jack?" he asked, grinning a little.
"Many, many words," Simon replied, still rubbing his eyes. When everything happened, he hadn't stopped to think about what creating Hirou International would mean; it meant that his hours weren't his own anymore. People wondered where he went if he disappeared. He had to sleep nights, because he had to be awake at a decent hour to make sure everything was ticking over as it ought. And if he couldn't sleep, he still had to be there. It was exhausting, all this power.
"Can't be that bad, aren't they still in California?" Peter checked his watch. "Jeez, it's only seven am there. What's he calling you at seven in the morning for?"
"It's his mum," Simon said. Peter sat up straight, concern on his face. "No, nothing like that. She's one of us, that's all."
"But that's good -- that means his parents get it, right?"
"They've got six kids, Petrelli."
"So?"
"I want you," Simon said carefully, "to shut your eyes and think about five more Jack Bakers hangin' about the place."
Peter bit his lip to keep from smiling.
"Bugger, and I have lessons -- and Suresh is whining about something, wants me to look in on the lab," Simon said, pushing his chair back. Peter stood too, resting a hand on his arm as he passed. Simon stopped and glanced at him, eyebrows raised impatiently.
"Go on to the lab, I'll take lessons today," Peter said.
"Lab can wait."
"Yeah, but your health can't. Go to the lab, then run away for a while. Go...steal churros or whatever it is you do to relax. I'll handle the lessons."
Simon gave him a measured look, then nodded.
"Right," he said. Petrelli knew enough to handle the day's work. Micah mostly just needed supervision to make sure he didn't electrocute himself. The new girl, Belinda, was fourteen and could sculpt water like it was clay; she wore too much eyeliner, dyed her hair black, and liked Peter better anyway.
He didn't like what Peter said about running away, though. That was coming just a little too close to the truth. And the thought of five more Baker children entering Hirou's training school didn't help any.
Jack on an archaeological dig, far into the future, with Molly as his adopted daughter.
"What do you make of it?"
Jack knew exactly what to make of it, but he couldn't let on; in a way, the dig was like a Christmas present that he really wanted to give to someone right now, watch them tear into it and see the looks on their faces. Archaeology, on the other hand, was a patient science -- and Jack had become good at keeping secrets.
He studied the layer of dirt that the dig volunteers and interns had uncovered, hefting the fine thin pottery in one hand. It was out of place here, mid-eighteenth-century at the earliest.
"Trash," he said finally, squatting in the dust and sifting a handful of dirt through his fingers. "We know someone else was digging here, a century ago -- I think we've found the last dig's trash heap."
"But there's period pottery," the young woman said, looking perplexed.
"Think like a Victorian," he replied. "Think like a treasure-hunter."
The ring of faces surrounding his, listening to him, began to light up, one by one.
"They threw out whatever they didn't want," someone said.
"That's right. Okay, let's -- hm." Jack rubbed the back of his neck in thought. "Let's rope this off for the day. I'm going to recommend a special excavation. We'll dig slow and notate everything, and all the sherds go for analysis. We'll see if we can't untangle their stuff from the real stuff. I -- "
"JACK!" Elizabeth called. Jack looked up, raising his head above the ridge of the site. "COME UP! Someone to see you!"
He hoisted himself up to the ground-level and took off his hat, using it to beat the dirt out of his khakis. When he looked up, there was an ancient jeep parked near the sifting tent. He shaded his eyes, then broke into a run. A thin, slight figure ran forward as well, and Jack met her halfway, lifting her up and swinging her around in the air.
"Molly!" he said, laughing. He set her down on the hardpan and whacked her on the shoulder with his hat. "Look at you, my big girl. Where's -- "
He looked up then, and saw the other person standing next to the jeep.
In three steps he'd covered the ground and reached Claire, sliding an arm around her waist and kissing her.
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