Progeny, Chapter 3
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: Heroes
Genre: Action
Rating: T
Language: English
Summery: Air Force One approaches Odessa. Peter and Claire find a new home for his daughter.
Spoilers: Volume 3’s “I Am Become Death,” but by now, we’re so firmly entrenched in this AU, that the only thing I’m really spoiling is “The World Entire.”

A/N: For the record, anytime I give an excuse for why a chapter is late, it’s total B.S. Like I’ll occasionally blame my beta even if it’s not her fault. Or my cats. Or global warning. Frankly, you’ll be able to see through my transparent lies.

On an unrelated note, this chapter was delayed by Daylight Savings Time. You know how that is.

In the last chapter of The World Entire: Progeny… Sixteen years later, it’s Take Your Daughter to Work day as Peter remembers the day that changed his life forever. Meredith gets a call from Tracy promoting her.

: : :

Chapter 3: Survival of the Nicest

It seems that most of the natural world did not get the memo on “survival of the fittest,” because everyday animals of all types flout this principle. Richard Dawkins wrote a book entitled The Selfish Gene, noting that “selfish” was such an unsuitable term. Rather than selfish, nature tends to be altruistic. Why else would the majority of ants and bees be sterile, spending their lives protecting and pampering their mother, the queen, if their own genes will not be passed on? The theories of kin selection and inclusive fitness tell us that we are not alone in our generosity; it is encoded in our very DNA. It is the deceit, the envy, and the hatred that is unnatural. The one who works for the benefit of the community, the enemies that lay down arms to embrace one another as brothers, the parent who sacrifices everything so that their child may prosper, these people are fulfilling their duty as a citizen of Earth.

: : :

Nathan, Tracy, and Andrew
Air Force One
Just Over Odessa, Texas
December 22, 2012
2:53 PM

“Fifteen minutes to touch-down, Mr. President,” the voice over the intercom spoke.

Andrew’s face was pressed against the window.

“Are we almost there?” he asked for the fifty-third time.

“Yes, Sweetie,” his mother replied.

“I’d say someone is excited about meeting his new cousin.”

“Are you sure it’s a girl?” he asked forlornly.

“Or else he’s a very unlucky boy,” Nathan replied, grinning.

“Nathan!” Tracy chastised, “Save it for the War Room.”

“Is Miss Caitlin nice?”

Nathan and Tracy exchanged guarded glances.

“Yes,” Tracy replied, “she’s very nice.”

The booming sound, the flash of white-yellow light, and the concussive blast occurred all at once, rattling the plane as if it had been hit by a giant wielding a colossal sledgehammer. The lights went out and sirens screamed as secret service agents poured into the room. Agent Braham declared, “Both pilots are incapacitated. The autopilot will do it’s best to land us, but it doesn’t look good. Should we prep the pod?” The First Family huddled together as Nathan screamed out, “No, bring me Professor Suresh!”

Agent Lake raced out of the room and dragged in Mohinder. “Nathan, what do you need?!” Mohinder screamed over the noise. Despite the severe turbulence, Mohinder had no trouble standing.

“I need you to tear open a hole in the plane.”

“Are you insane?”

“I’m going to save my family first. I’ll come back for you all later.” He looked at Andrew, clutching onto Tracy. He tore off his jacket and loosened his tie.

“Don’t worry about me, sir,” Mohinder noted, “I’ll just jump.” He grinned broadly.

Nathan reached into his desk and pulled out a small metal case. Inside were a dozen shots of clear liquid. He tossed them to Agents Braham and Henry. “Take them at your own risk. If your powers return, use them.” He turned to Mohinder, “Do it now.”

As Braham and Henry threw off their coats to prepare for the injection, Mohinder stretched his hands and began to tear at the wall, ripping off the elegant furnishing before reaching the thick hull. “This is going to hurt,” he muttered to himself before thrashing his fingers into the thick metal, and pulling outward with bleeding fingers. He tore at one side, opening a hole big enough to fit several people.

No sooner than the hole was opened did Nathan fly out with his wife and son clutched tightly in his arms. He landed the best he could outside on a sandy patch outside the Burnt Toast Diner and immediately postured to return to flight.

“Nathan!” Tracy called.

“I have to, Trace. I love you both.” He kissed his wife, hugged his son, and leapt back into the air.

Tracy watched the rumbling plane far above, and could barely make out the tiny speck that was her husband reaching the plane. Moments later, one of the wings exploded, shooting flames that engulfed the plane as it fell into a nosedive while Tracy look on, stunned.

: : :

Coyote Sands, NM
December 22, 2012

Peter and Claire, with Hannah in Peter’s arms, appeared in the desert camp.

“Coyote Sands?” Claire asked.

“Yeah, it’s got all the amenities. Shelter, food, water, and most importantly, privacy.”

“And sand. A lot of sand. And wood rot.”

“Okay, so it’s a fixer-upper. Give me five minutes and I’ll have it good as new.”

“Before that… can we go back to the food? We all just did a full-body regeneration and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Peter grinned, “I’ll go get us some food.” He carefully handed Hannah to Claire, “I took her radioactivity. She’ll be fine.” Peter teleported away.

Claire looked at the tiny baby in her arms, only a few hours old, sleeping quietly. “I bet you’re hungry,” Claire whispered softly. Hannah shifted in her arms, cooing. Claire mentally chided herself, remembering that Hannah would have Peter’s enhanced hearing. Claire noticed Hannah wriggling and her eyes moving underneath her eyelids, dreaming. She suddenly burst into tears, screaming.

Claire bounced Hannah in her arms, trying to quiet her, when she noticed the light. Hannah was glowing again, causing radiation burns on Claire’s arms. “No, no, no, no, no,” Claire pleaded, “it’s okay.”

But Hannah exploded again.

: : :

Monica and Lyle
Promised Land Baptist Church
Foidefait Bay, Louisiana
December 23, 2012

Dressed in her Sunday best, Monica walked up the aisle, and took a seat. Following her, while fiddling uncomfortably with his tie, was Lyle in khakis and a blue blazer.

“I hate dressing for church,” he grumbled.

“You come to work every day in a suit and tie.”

“Yeah, but this reminds me of Mom dragging us to Easter every year.”

Monica ruffled Lyle’s hair, unsurprised that he didn’t bother to fix it.

The choir director, a full-figured woman of Hispanic descent, stepped up to the microphone, and noted, “We’ll be starting this morning with Hymn Number 475 ‘Victory in Jesus’.”

During the hymn, Monica surveyed the pastor. The Reverend Gideon Davenport was a man of medium build and dark skin in his fifties with a head of short black hair and a full salt-and-pepper beard. He surveyed the audience with suspicion, his eyes cold, and his mouth a straight line. However, it curved into a simple smile and he put on a pair of sapphire-tinted reading glasses that caught the light, making his eyes gleam. In a commanding baritone, he spoke, “The scripture for today is from the Book of Deuteronomy, the Eighteenth Chapter, Verses nine through fourteen…”

After a breath he loudly declared, “‘When you come into the land which the Lord your God is giving you, you shall not learn to follow the abominations of those nations. There shall not be found among you anyone…” he paused to repeat the word, “anyone who makes his son or daughter pass through the fire, or one who practices witchcraft, or a soothsayer, or one who interprets omens, or a sorcerer…”

It was at this point that Monica noticed that Rev. Davenport was reading from a different translation that her own New International Version or the Good News Version translations found in the pews.

“This is the Word of the Lord,” Davenport declared after finishing the passage.

“Thanks be to God,” responded the congregation, including Monica. Lyle mumbled it afterwards as he darted his eyes around to see if anyone had noticed.

Davenport began his sermon, “Colonial Massachusetts. February of 1692. Good, God-fearing folk just like us accused twenty people of being witches, so we burnt them at the stake!” he bellowed triumphantly, slamming his fist on the pulpit. After a moment, as his congregants sat back up after flinching backwards, he put on a grin and noted, “That’s not true. We hanged them.” He let out a chortle before amending, “And for one unlucky fellow, smashed him with rocks.”

There was a chuckle from the section where the teenage youths sat together.

To that area, he noted, “No, it’s alright. We were quite creative at that time.”

Davenport stepped down from the pulpit and began to address the congregation from the steps of the stage. “But these people were not witches. The girls who started the witch hunt, they were nine and eleven. Nine and eleven… years old. According to the records we have, the Puritan suspected them of witchcraft because they flailed about, more violently than epileptics. They make strange noises. They threw things. Sounds like demonic possession to me. Actually, sounds like adolescence.” There was laughter among the congregation.

“’Soothsayer.’ It’s another word for diviner. Or psychic. Or precog. It is ‘abominable’. The book mentions sorcery, which it does not elaborate on. Maybe it’s creating fire from nothing. Or moving objects with your mind. It talks about mediums, those that converse with or raise the dead.” A hush fell over the sanctuary.

With spine-chilling sincerity, he related, “We all knew people who took the shot. Who became ‘more than human,’ as they called it. Frankly, I wonder if they became less human. Humans were not meant to see the future. They weren’t meant to be immortal. We were made in his image, but we weren’t meant to be more like God that God intended. And some of them were our friends, I know. My point is not that these people were bad people, just that they committed sins. As we are all sinners. They committed sins that will easily be forgiven by God. Sins that God felt right to take away. ‘If you right eye causes you to sin, pluck it out.’ Some died, yes, but do not think I’m standing up here and parroting the hardly-Reverend Phelps with my sign ‘Thank God for the Epidemic’.” He mimed waving a sign to a frowning audience. “I will not make the same mistake that William Stoughton made and call these poor souls witches.

“No, the Epidemic was another Flood. I love the Flood story. I tell it every time I visit the children. At my previous church, a little one asked me after telling the story, ‘Why was God so mean to all those people? I thought God loved everybody.’ Needless to say, I was speechless. I’d been a pastor maybe a year and a half, and I didn’t have all those good responses thought out yet. But I came up with one not too long after. I realized I’d left out the most important part. The rainbow. Which is pretty foolish of me, because it’s invariably the kids’ favorite part. So, now, I finish the story with this:

“God did love those people. You know how I know? Because of the rainbow. Rainbows only happen after it’s rained. It rained for forty days and forty nights. Where did all the rain come from? I tell them this: God was crying for the people, for their souls that he couldn’t save and lives he couldn’t change. God grieved from them, just like he grieved for those who died in the Epidemic, after losing their way. He did. They say it was overcast for two weeks in New York, and of course here, we had Ophelia giving the levees another run for them money. But I remember the rainbow. I remember God letting me know that this would never happen again. And he was right; Pinehearst was engulfed in holy flames. Never again.”

He paused a moment to transition into his next story. “I was biology major in college in… well, Lord, a long while ago—God has seen fit to age me as the years go by—anyway, I had a roommate named Tommy. Tommy was a nice guy, but he had a few… hobbies which I’d only heard about, because I was a boy raised in Shreveport who once got his hide reddened by his Daddy for being caught with one single cigarette. It should not surprise you to learn that Tommy joined a fraternity. For him it was harmless fun. At least it was until the thirtieth of March, 1974. In those days, traffic laws were a little more lax and…”

Once Davenport got the point of the story that including the phrase “rightful shunning,” Monica was glowering up at the pastor, until she felt a touch on her hand. She turned to the person seated beside her, a woman of Chinese descent, in her mid-thirties, smiling kindly. “Wipe that scowl off your face,” she remarked, “it’s like this every week. Last week, he made some stumbling metaphor about the Mark of Cain.”

Monica did a quick glance around, before replying, “So if he’s really up there muckraking against an extinct breed of people, why come here every week?”

“I’ve been going to this church my whole life. I’ve seen five pastors and at least as many interims on that pulpit. All my friends and all my kids’ friends go here. I’ll be here long after he’s gone. I take it you used to be evolved.”

“Guilty as charged,” Monica lied fluently. “Law of averages says every other person in this congregation had an ability. Why do they listen to him scorn them like they’re little demons?”

“Oh, were you here the last week before Lent?”

Monica muffled a chuckle as best she could.

“Look, sister, you’re overestimating the number of people that listen to the sermon and underestimating the number of people who lost people during the Epidemic and haven’t gotten closure. Pinehearst dissolved overnight the day before. And the terrorists were executed by the government almost immediately and then never mentioned again.”

Monica bit her tongue and nodded. She paused a moment before asking, “Did you…?”

“Take the shot? Nah. A few of my friends did, but none of them crashed to the ground or ran into a wall or anything.”

“Okay,” Monica replied, trying to elicit more.

“I supposed I think those powers were a gift from God we weren’t ready for. A kind of taste of Heaven so that we’d have faith. I mean, I’m kind of glad they’re gone, but…” The woman shook her head, and noted, “I’m babbling. Grace-Ann,” she covertly extended her hand.

“Monica.”

Interrupting the conversation, Rev. Davenport stated as he concluded his sermon, “Amen. Let us pray. Oh, Lord God, King of King, we humbly bow our heads in reverence, and take this moment to thank you for your divine justice, for your scouring hand. We ask that you continue to root out the evil in the world…”

: : :

Peter Petrelli
Coyote Sands, NM
December 22, 2012

When Peter teleported back with two large takeout bags from his favorite Italian eatery, he found Coyote Sands a wasteland.

Several hundred yards away, he found Claire standing shoulder-deep in a pond, apparently naked, with a similar unclothed Hannah sleeping against her shoulder.

Peter realized, “She’s a mimic. She mimicked the radioactivity after I took it.”

“Ya think?” Claire replied sharply.

“Let me see her. I’m gonna have to take her natural ability.”

“You’re getting me clothes first.”

“We’re going to have to get away quick, thought. Another nuclear explosion on U.S. soil? This place is gonna be swarmed with feds.”

: : :

Liam Samuels
The Oval Office
Washington, D.C.
December 23, 7:26 PM

“…have a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukah, and a wonderful winter season. Thank you and God bless,” Samuels concluded, as the spotlight went out and camera switched off.

Samuels bowed his head down, running his fingers through his dark hair. He was approached by his chief of staff, Richard Barnes, who complimented him on his telecast.

Samuels laughed sadly through tired eyes. “So, any word on whether I’ve got this job for four weeks or four years?”

Barnes rolled his shoulders, “This situation is without precedence. Congress will hold a special session after the New Year and they’ll either confirm or deny you the next term. I think it’ll depend a lot on how you handle the next few weeks.”

With masked interest, he asked, “What do you think my chances are?”

Barnes replied with sincerity, “Right now, you’d barely scrape by.” Conjecturally, he added, “Pick a good VP. Parade around a few scapegoats for the bombings—”

“Explosions,” Samuels corrected.

“—bombings. Then your chances are better. Nothing brings a nation together besides tragedy.”

“This is not how I wanted to become President.”

“Life is what happens when we’re making plans.”

“If you want to sprout aphorisms, write a book.”

“I’ll take that to heart, sir.”

Another aide approached Samuels. “Tracy Petrelli’s been calling pretty regularly.”

“Damn, I’m not ready for Tracy yet. Tell Dahlia to keep her placated for another thirty minutes and I’ll meet her in the Red Room.”

The aide wasn’t finished, “And a Meredith Gordon has requested a meeting with you. I don’t who she is but she’s got—”

Samuels cut her off, “I’ll take care of it.” The tone indicated that the conversation was over and the aide walked away.

Once in private company again, Barnes asked, “Who is this Gordon lady? Five years ago, she’s keeping off the grid, hiding in Mexico under the names of Dallas characters, and next thing you know, she’s got a direct line to the President.”

“Nathan had a pet project, a totally secret government-funded organization that dealt with Specials. Tracy called me yesterday and implemented protocols that I thought only Nathan had authorization to. She had me pick up Gordon and take her to a secure location in Hartsdale, New York. Turns out this woman is running the damn thing.”

“Shouldn’t you have detained her? I mean, a nuclear explosion in some mid-sized town in Texas that just happens to take down Air Force One three days before Christmas? And we can’t even get an accurate report because the only organization with jurisdiction on Specials is completely sheltered? I’m more worried about our intelligence agencies rioting than the common citizens!”

“I’m going to need you to trust me, Rick. This situation’s going to get more complicated before it gets less.”

: : :

Peter, Claire, and Hannah
Kirishitan Cathedral
Ikitsuki, Japan
December 22, 2012

“It’s a church,” was the first thing that Claire said when they arrived at the deserted church. They sauntered down the aisle together, looking around.

“Hiro Nakamura hid out here a while back.”

“Explains the web,” Claire replied, noting the massive web of yarn filling the narthex. She noticed several pictures of her, several with her in her leather-and-dark-hair persona. She found an article on the Costa Verde Disaster, with her picture, among others, paper clipped. “He was trying fix the timeline.”

“He couldn’t do it. Time travel is a messy business.”

“Why here?”

“It’s an isolated island off the coast of Japan. No way for anyone to get hurt.”

“We’ll make it work. Now, goddammit—” Claire paused, looked around, made the sign of the cross, and continued, “now, goshdarnit, I’m starving. Give me some spaghetti or I’m liable to eat the baby.”

A few hours later, the church looked a little more habitable; lights were strung up, the dust and debris cleared away, and there were boxes of furniture ready to be assembled.

Peter held a list in his hand. “Okay, so I’ve taken away her empathic mimicry, her induced radioactivity, precognitive dreaming to stop the nightmares, power absorption to stop her from taking my ability to stop her, power negation for the same reason, and time travel for obvious reasons. I think we’re good.”

“For my benefit, could you take away flight?” Claire asked, behind him.

Peter spun around and saw his daughter floating twenty feet in the air. He flew up to her and dropped her in Claire’s arms. “Done.”

“Thanks, I’d put her on a leash, but lord knows she’d burn it off.” Hannah at this moment was sucking on a flaming thumb.

“Shh,” Peter suddenly whispered, tilting his head. “I heard something. Get down; protect her.” Claire crouched behind the front pew with Hannah, wishing she had something to fight with. Instead, she surveyed the exits and devised escape plans.

Peter softly treaded down the aisle, lighting a flame in his hand and turning invisible. From her hiding spot, Claire heard a brief struggle, the cackle of fire and then electricity. She clung tighter to Hannah and waited.

“Gabriel?” she heard Peter’s voice.

“Pete? What gives?” came the familiar voice of Claire’s other uncle.

Claire got up and walked into the antechamber, where she found Peter and Gabriel, both healing from wounds, while around them, Hiro’s web slowly burned down.

“Hey, Claire Bear,” Gabriel noted sweetly.

“Don’t call me that, Gabriel,” Claire snipped.

“That the kid?”

“Hannah,” Peter noted.

“Mazel tov,” Gabriel walked up and Claire handed her uncle the baby, “Reminds me of Noah when he was little.” After a moment, he recited, “She’s an empathic mimic like you, Pete. Her fear mechanism caused her to activate your radioactivity. You tried to take it from her, but since she’s a mimic, she copied it right back, which is why Coyote Sands, as well as Odessa, is a nuclear fallout zone. You were smart enough to take both her radioactivity and mimicry, and a few more things to make it easier for Claire to help raise her.”

“It’s freaky when you do that,” Claire noted as Peter took his child.

“Well, the U.S. thought there was a terrorist attack yesterday. Twelve thousand are dead. No group is taking credit, unsurprisingly, so we’ve got religious nuts proclaiming Armageddon and conspiracy nuts proclaiming pulled another Kennedy.”

“Another Kennedy? Wait, what’s wrong with my dad?” Claire demanded as her face was torn with fear. Peter’s expression matched hers.

Gabriel grimaced. “You haven’t heard. Air Force One was flying over Odessa when Hannah blew up. The blast didn’t hit them but the shock wave did.”

“Oh, God! And Tracy and Andrew?!”

“They’re fine. Nathan saved them, but he went back to the plane to save more and it exploded. The plane crashed within the evacuation zone, so we can’t get in there. Nathan was our trump card when it came to the government. Tracy’s doing her best, but…”

“But…?” Peter seethed.

“Look, he’s my brother, too. But too much is going down. They’ve already sworn Samuels into office. Meredith was made Director. And then you two went missing. We’re still reeling and… we’ll figure this out, but there’s a good chance—”

“How’d you find us?” Claire asked abruptly.

“Molly Walker,” Gabriel explained, “we need you back.”

“Look,” Peter explained, “we still don’t know what Hannah’s capable of. Until she learns to maintain some control over her abilities, I can’t risk her causing any more deaths.”

“I get that, Pete, I really do. Since Costa Verde, we had to keep Noah in a titanium-lined cell. There’s still dangerous Specials out there.”

“Look, I can teleport in whenever you need me,” offered Peter, “but not for too long.”

“And Claire?”

“I didn’t realize I was so invaluable,” she teased.

“Hey, you’re welcome to go on maternity leave. We’ve got enough of your blood stored up for a while.”

“One of us has to be here at all times to watch Hannah,” proclaimed Peter.

“Hey, I get it. We’ll work with you.” Gabriel pulled out two mobile phone boxes from a duffel bag and handed them to Peter and Claire. “Keep them on at all times. And one more thing.”

“Yeah,”

He gestured to Hannah. “Keep her safe. I’ve got a watch to build.”

Gabriel nodded to them, floated a few feet off the group, and flew out of the room.

“You two were surprisingly cordial.”

“We bonded,” Claire explained and didn’t say another word on the subject.

: : :

A/N: Okay, 2012 is just entirely too interesting. I may be spending even more time than I thought here.

I have a proposition for my readers. I’d like to create a feedback loop. In addition to just praise and criticisms (which I love regardless), I want you to take a more active role in reviewing. What characters interest you? Which storylines are engaging? Should I dwell on the fallout of the Odessa Disaster, or move along to 2029 and tell the stories of the next generation? I love answering questions, because I do put a lot of thought into my characters and plotlines. I love theories, and I encourage you to come up with Epileptic Trees. Maybe they’ll be Jossed, or maybe it’ll be a case of I Knew It, or just as likely I’ll say Sure Why Not. Yes, I do visit ; how you’d know? If you’re a fan of fiction, it’s a must-see, but I’m warning you, TV Tropes Will Ruin Your Life.

Also, many thanks to my beta, heroesfan124.

Started 6/10/2009. Finished 7/17/2009.