|Fighting With Fire
Author: heroesfan1 PM
What would happen if Claire had saved Meredith by negotiating with Sylar? AU from 3x13 onwards.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Claire B. & Sylar/Gabriel G. - Chapters: 6 - Words: 39,432 - Reviews: 37 - Favs: 30 - Follows: 49 - Updated: 04-09-13 - Published: 11-15-12 - id: 8705059
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A Clear And Present Danger, 3x14(Part 1)
Tracy stepped into her apartment, leisurely picking up the phone. "Hello, Governor." She smiled as she picked up the phone. "Really? Is he on now?"
She flicked on the TV. Sure enough, there he was, being interviewed by some stuffy old reporter from Channel 5. "There are some people who are frankly stunned by your seemingly meteoric uprise." The reporter stated. "In the Senate less than three months, and already seemingly closely allied with the president on what some people are calling unprecedented access to the average American's most private details." She watched him carefully as he shifted in his seat and leaned back against it, smiling leisurely. He's about to lie his ass off.
"Steve, I'm just a humble junior Senator from New York. But as Chairman of the Senate commision on Homeland Security, it's my duty to protect and serve the people of America."
Tracy rolled her eyes, and let his words wash over her. He wasn't even looking at the camera, his eyes were on the ground. For a politician, he was a really bad liar. "I assure you Governor, I don't know any more about this than you do." She made her way to the her bedroom, clutching her phone to her ear as she undressed and slipped on her robe. "Trust me. That's ancient history. Haven't spoken to him in close to two months." She turned on the TV in her room and leaned down to take off her high heels, feeling tiredness wash over. "Now, if you don't mind, I do have to get some sleep." She smiled as she hung up. She heard Nathan's interview playing, not really listening. She was too tired to deal with his political mishaps right now. She sighed as she folded up her dress, looking over at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Just as she was about to turn away, she noticed her bathroom window was open. That was strange. She had never opened it; not once, not since she moved in. She looked around, trying to gauge whether anything had been taken. Slowly, she walked over to the window, closing it and latching it. Must have opened it at some point, she told herself, and probably just forgotten about it. She tried hard to ignore the feeling of unease that was seeping into her bones. She shook her head and glanced back at the TV screen. Nathan was still talking, and still lying his ass off. She smiled wryly and turned back to her bedroom. Stupid bastard. Her heart stopped and she gasped. A man, in some sort of combat gear and a gun stood in front of her. What the hell? She latched herself onto the man and felt the ice seep out of her hands. This was self-defence, after all.
However, the combat suit was made out of some kind of material that seemed to combat her powers and she threw herself backwards and ran in the direction of her living room. Did they know about her power? How else would they know to equip themselves like that? She ran towards the door, questions racing through her mind. But, no. There were more of them, with their strange looking guns. Panic seized her and she tried hard to push past them, but they pushed her toward the ground and she stumbled backward. She got to her feet shakily, glancing around the room. Who were these people? They cornered every possible escape route. "You want me to beg?" She asked, trying her best not to show the fear that was slowly building inside of her. "Well, I don't beg for anyone!" She stood in the circle of, well, whatever they were, and tried not to shiver in fear. Were they rapists? Was this some kind of political scheme? She watched as another one of them emerged. This one looked slightly different. His eyes weren't covered. She searched his eyes carefully for any emotion, but his expression was unreadable. "What do you want?" The man didn't reply, he simply raised his gun and then...Jet blackness.
"I really, really hate you." Claire repeated as they stepped into the dingy motel room. Sylar just shot her an amused look. "You've said that several times over the past few weeks, Claire. Just in the interest of making conversation, what did I do now?"He flopped down on the bed, and observed her curiously, arms behind his head.
She gestured to the single bed. "You wouldn't let me get my own room, which is understandable, with you not wanting me to escape and all... But you couldn't even get two seperate beds?" Sylar sighed. "I asked the guy behind the counter, but he said they didn't have a room with two seperate beds. Besides, I don't see what the problem is." He smirked. "There's plenty of room for both you and.." A pillow hit his face before he could finish the sentence. "I'm not sharing a bed with you. End of story."
She grabbed two pillows from the bed and a blanket from the cupboard. "I'll take the floor." Sylar shrugged, and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Your choice." Claire rolled her eyes and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. After a few minutes, Sylar heard the shower stop running and hesitant footsteps toward the bathroom door. Then someone, presumably Claire, slamming her head against the wall. His brow furrowed. What was she doing in there? Finally, after a few minutes, she walked out, but she wasn't wearing anything other than her bra and boy shorts. He raised his eyebrows, watching her carefully as she covered herself in the motel's blanket. Shame. "Uh, Claire?" She scowled at him. "Shut up. I don't have anything else, okay?" She turned away from him and set the pillows down on the floor, wrapping the blankets around herself tightly before lying down. He shrugged and yawned, then grinned. "You could always borrow my shirt, you know," He suggested slyly. She sat up straight in her make-shift bed, eyes narrowed. "I'd rather make out with a hobo." She confided, eyes deadly. He chuckled and flicked off the lights. She was always so fun to mess with. It was one of the real perks of bringing her along.
Ando sighed and closed his eyes. What was Hiro up to now? He heard the sound of something clanging behind him. "Open your eyes." Hiro commanded in Japanese. Ando reluctantly complied, wondering what this was all about. He turned towards the sound of Hiro's voice and was faced with what looked like an old garage. A really big old garage. "Used to be an old firehouse. I pulled some strings," Hiro continued proudly, "Bought it from the city. Now, it's our lair." Ando's head spun. Lair? What was this, Batman? Was this his 'batcave'? "This is our what?" He asked, staring around the room in a mixture of terror and wariness. Hiro had been at him for weeks, talking about his 'destiny' and his 'ultimate quest for justice.' Ando had told him multiple times that the only quest he was going on was the one on his online roleplay games. But Hiro was stubborn if anything. He sighed and tried to reiterate this point. "We've been over this Hiro, the only quest I'm going on is..." He trailed off as he caught sight of what Hiro was holding in his hands. "What is that?" He asked, eyes narrowed.
Hiro held up the hideous costume proudly. "A superhero must hide his true identity. You're going to look very badass in the rest of your costume." Ando raised his eyebrows and took the costume from Hiro, fingering the material. There was no way he was going out anywhere in this thing! Let alone running around the city and fighting crime. It looked like an advertisment for a electrical company! And it was Spandex!
"There is no way I am ever going out in that, Hiro." Ando stated matter-of-factly as he returned the costume to it's place. "But..." Hiro protested, until Ando held up his hands for silence. "Hiro, we both know what this is about. You don't have your powers anymore, so you want to live through me." Ando shook his head. He felt sympathy for Hiro, losing his powers must have been a blow, but what could he do? Wait for another superhero to show up and then super-charge them? Hiro tried to deny it but they both knew it was true. "But my power is worthless, Hiro." At this, Hiro shook his head vehemently. "You are a super-charger!" Hiro protested. "For other people's powers!" But Hiro still refused to accept this. "Children will speak of your crime fighting abilities for years!" He smiled enthusiastically. "Yes, right after they stop laughing at how I am dressed," Ando scoffed. "Ando," Hiro's face lost some of it's childlike joy, "It is your destiny to become a superhero." Ando's shoulders fell. There was no argument that he could use against Hiro to convince him he was wrong. He wasn't a hero, he was a sidekick. He shook his head at Hiro, "Forget it. I'm not interested." He turned away from Hiro defiantly. But, no, there was no way Hiro would give up that easily.
"Well, let's see if you feel that way after you see the Ando-cycle!" Hiro exclaimed, walking over to a sheathed object in the middle of the room. This peaked his interest. He walked over to Hiro, and even Ando had to admit the Ando-cycle was kind of...Badass. It was a shiny motorcycle, with red lightning strikes on it similar to the ones on the leather jacket and the Spandex-suit Hiro had got him. "It's a motorcyle!" He exclaimed, running his hands over it excitedly. He could just imagine it; him driving down the road with an army of girls chasing after him. It was times like these Ando was glad that Hiro didn't have Matt Parkman's power. "Not any motorcycle," Hiro corrected, smiling as he handed Ando a matching helmet,"Go ahead. I've embedded the latest two-way communication all from right here at base camp." He tapped the keyboard of the computer and it sprang to life. "You just enter the password." Ando smiled, setting himself down on the motorcycle, or Ando-cycle. "Let me guess," Ando chuckled, "I don't get to know the password." Hiro shook his head with a wry smile. "Not even a clue?" He pleaded, curious. Hiro considered this for a moment, before relenting. "It's the name of someone very important to me." Hiro entered something into the computer and turned back to face him, toying with something that looked like a gun. "Once I've entered the password, I can track your location anywhere on the planet with your GPS implant." Huh? "What GPS implant?" Ando asked, confused. Hiro held the gun to his arm and before he could react, had injected him with something.
"Ow!" Ando rubbed his stinging arm. "I can't believe you did that to me!" Hiro rolled his eyes. Always overreacting. "Don't worry, I did the same thing to my self. It only hurts for the first hour." He grinned at Ando, hoping he would join in his enthusiasm. Ando just stared at him like he was crazy. "You're insane! You know what, I've had it with you!" He shook his head at Hiro and reached for his helmet. "Find yourself another superhero!" He revved up the engine and with that he was out of there, leaving Hiro in his dust.
"Come on." Peter pushed harder on the man's chest, willing him to breathe again. Hesam stared at him in concern. He knew Peter was well-meaning, but this was too much. It bordered on crazy. The man had stopped breathing half an hour ago!
"Peter," He tried gently, trying to wake him out of the trance he seemed to be in. "Peter! Stop!" Finally, Peter seemed to hear him, and looked up. He didn't stop pumping the man's chest, though. "Peter, stop." He tried more gently. "The man's dead. He bled out in the car." Peter's arms stopped moving and he slumped dejectedly. "I could have saved him." Hesam shook his head at Peter. "No, you couldn't. Like I said, he bled out in the car." Peter shook his head, looking morose. "I should have gotten to him faster." He stood up, moving away from the dead man. Hesam pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Why couldn't he get this point across to Peter. "He was pinned down in there! You can't save everyone, you know." Peter's lips twitched at this, but his eyes were still solemn. He turned away from Hesam, seemingly overcome with guilt. "I can try." Hesam sighed. Peter could be so stubborn sometimes.
"Whoa!" Matt looked up in alarm as something whizzed into the apartment at a deadly speed, sending papers flying into the air. Matt sighed. He had told her to stop doing that. For one, it gave him a heart-attack, and secondly, they had agreed; no powers. Matt shook his head and went back to toying with the remains of his breakfast. Seeing him, Daphne grinned. "Oh hey..." She smiled, "I was just.." He raised his eyebrows at her and finished her sentence. "Working?" Her grin faded. He knew. No point in trying to deny it now. "Uh..Yeah..I got done with all my morning deliveries, so I thought I'd just come home." She smiled, hoping to ward off the lecture that was almost sure to come hrer way. He snorted. "At 10.30?" He pushed away from the table and made his way to the sink, dumping his plate into the dishwasher. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you spying on me?" She asked, suspicion lacing her words.
"Maybe." He answered, washing his hands. He didn't offer and apology and didn't say anthing else. It was obvious that he thought she was to blame. She sighed and folded her arms, walking over to him.
"Look, I know we promised no powers, but..do you know how long it takes to get across mid-town on a bike?" She tried, pleading with him. It was true; she had gotten on the bike but after a few minutes of going as slow as snail, she had decided to, urm...speed things up a little. Patience was not one of her virtues. Matt chuckled, looking up at her in annoyance. "Yes, that's kind of the idea." She sighed. God, did he have to be so, so...Stubborn? Why couldn't he just loosen up a little? It was not like people were going to complain about getting their mail faster.
She tried to make him see her perspective. "Yeah, but I'm done early...We can go to the zoo or something..." She smiled winningly at him. He had promised her he would take her. It was the one place in New York she hadn't gone to. Instead, the frown on his face grew. "Some of us still have to put in a full day. You know," He said, moving around her to sort out some mail, "I could use my ability to work my way to the top of the police force but do I?" She rolled her eyes, losing patience. "No. 'Cause you're a bodyguard that makes 12 bucks an hour." She ran her fingers through her hair, annoyed and frustrated.
"At least it's honest work." He rebuttled, glaring at her.
"When you should be setting up your own private detective agency like you want!" She leaned in closer to him. "I told you, I can get you the money!"
He just turned away from her, rifling through the mail. "I'm not using stolen money to start up a business, Daphne." He sighed. "What's wrong with trying to live like normal people?" He sounded exasperated. Daphne turned to face him again. "It's boring, for one thing." This seemed to only annoy him further. "Well, I'll take boring any day, over this bizzaro world I've been in ever since this whole thing got started." He sighed again and got up, bringing his arms around her and pulling her close. She let him, but still didn't say anything. "Come on," He pleaded, "We talked about, putting it all behind us and just having a normal life together. Simple, good, normal." A ghost of a smile flitted over her face. As much as she hated to admit it, that sounded good. Matt smiled, he had gotten through to her. He turned to his left, and found Usutu. Shit. He was hallucinating again. He turned away, but Usutu followed his eyes, and this time appeared right next to him. "Just..normal.." He repeated, distinctly less sure of himself. Daphne turned around to face him, smiling. He quickly shifted his attention back to her. "Fine, you win," She brushed her lips over his slightly, "Normal it is." She gave him a small peck again, before turning away and making her way to the bedroom. Matt just stayed where he was, pondering Usutu's sudden reappearance. This could not be good.
Footsteps. Sylar's eyes flew open. He could hear footsteps. He sat up straight in bed, hair sticking up at odd angles. His eyes flitted to Claire's makeshift bed on the ground. It was empty. Oh shit. His shoulders tensed when he heard jiggling coming from the lock in the bathroom. "Darn this stupid, stupid lock!" He heard Claire's frustrated cursing grow louder and the doorknob shaking got more frequent and more violent. He groaned and rolled over, trying to cover out her cursing with his pillow, but it didn't work. Finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, he walked over to the door and yanked it open.
"God, Claire could you-" She stumbled forward onto his chest, knocking him onto the ground. He growled and rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. "-keep it down. Some people are trying to sleep here." Claire struggled underneath him, trying to push him off. "Get off, Sylar." His grin widened as she thrashed under him. Payback time. "Are you sure? I kinda like this position, Claire-bear." Her eyes narrowed and her struggling grew more panicked. "Come on, get off." He leaned forward until their noses were touching, then rolled off her and got to his feet. "I'm many things, Claire, but I'm not a rapist." He shook his head and glanced at the clock on the wall. 7.32 am. 2 minutes off. "We're leaving." He announced abruptly, turning to Claire, who was trying to cover her very-exposed self under her blanket. He rolled his eyes. "No use being shy, I've already seen everything." He leaned down towards her. "And I have photographic memory. So I can remember, every single detail." She shivered under his gaze and glared at him, unable to think of a response, before turning away and heading into the bathroom. Five minutes later, she emerged fully dressed. "Let's go." She walked out of the door, barely daring to glance at his face. She had a really strong feeling she was never going to hear the end of this. Literally.
Sylar stopped the car outside a dusty old building that resembled the old laundry place that Sandra always used to take her cheerleading costume, except the sign on the front of the building read, 'Harbor Watchshop: Repair and Buy.' She turned to face Sylar, whose expression was unreadable. "What are we doing here?" When he didn't answer her, her eyes widened in terror. "Are we here to kill somone?" He tensed, then flung open the car door. "We're here to see my father." Claire leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes for a few moments before getting out of the car and following him. Sylar's father? Oh joy.
The inside of the shop looked no better than the outside. It was run-down and dirty, and it had dust lining the shelves. The only thing that Claire found interesting about the shop was the dozens of watches and old-fashioned clocks. They were beautiful. She fingered a silver pocket watch, wondering how much it was worth. Sylar, however, seemed fascinated by something on the worktable, even though it was a rather normal watch with brown leather straps. He was muttering under his breath as he turned it around in his hands and held it up to his ear. She could barely hear what he was saying over the old record that was playing but it sounded a lot like, "Two seconds off...Cork..loose.." She stepped nearer towards him, studying the watch in his hand. He had removed the backing and was now tweaking with one of the wheels and screws, using his telekenisis to tighten them. Claire stepped closer and closer, until she was peering right over his shoulder. It was actually pretty fascinating, the way he was just able to fix it like that. She had been under the impression that the only thing he knew how to do was poke around in people's brains and screw up people's lives. She watched as he slipped the backing of the watch back on and stepped away from the table, smiling almost proudly. "That's so cool." She whispered, picking up the watch again and staring at it. She glanced at him curiously. "How'd you do that?" He was staring at her dazedly, as if he'd forgotten she was there, and was he blushing? He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly flustered. "Ah..you know..." He muttered something about being a man of many talents, but without his usual cocky grin or surefire confidence. She was about to pursue the topic more, but the cocking of a gun interrupted her. Out of reflex, she stepped in front of Sylar, shielding him with her body. His reaction was more relaxed, just barely glancing up at the man holding the gun, as if it were a normal thing that happened everyday. Well, for him she guessed it was kind of normal. The man with the gun was quite old and had white hair, and wore big black glasses with these magnifying glass thingies attached to them. He didn't look very threatening, nothing like Claire had imagined. She was picturing something along the lines of Count Dracula or maybe Hannibal. "You move and I shoot," The man was saying. Like that would help."Damn thief. You think you can come into my shop without me hearing ya?" It was obvious that the man was trying to put on a brave front, but she could see his fingers shaking. She almost sighed in relief. She had been really afraid the guy was going to be like Sylar; a violent, psychopathic serial killer.
Sylar was looking at the man with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. He looked almost...vulnerable. Who was this guy? He looked down at the workshop table, then back up at the man, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Martin...Martin Gray." So this was the man they'd been looking for for two weeks. Sylar had sifted through the Yellow Pages for days, looking for every Martin Gray that was listed. She didn't know what exactly was his process of elimination, but it had somehow landed them here. She saw the man who was presumably Sylar's father's eyes widen. "Do I know you?" At this, Sylar's eyes hardened. It wasn't exactly his murdering-psychopath look, more like a man who was angry and had been hurt.
"Did you live at 423 Kanwar Street, Queens, 27 years ago?" Sylar's voice was objective and emotionless, and she knew this was a sore subject for him. It was the same tone she used to use to talk about her biological parents to Noah and Sandra. "It was snowing," He dropped his gaze to the worktable as if looking for something to look at and she thought she saw tears in his eyes, but that just could have been her imagination. "You went out for a pack of ciggarettes at 10 o'clock and never came back." The man's mouth was hanging open now, and she felt the anger in Sylar's gaze pressing into her back. "Or so the story goes. Kind of cliche, don't you think?" Sylar's eyes searched the old man for a reaction. "Who are you?" Martin's voice was barely a whisper now. "I'm your son. And I have some questions for you."
Martin lowered his gun, staring at Sylar as if he was trying to place him from the boy he had left 27 years ago. He laid the gun down on the floor and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "I'm a very different person now," Martin said briskly. So am I, Sylar thought to himself."It was a long time ago." Sylar's brown eyes flashed dangerously and Claire gripped his shirt sleeve tightly, trying to prevent him from doing anything rash. He looked down at her amusedly. It was like she was trying to calm him down or restrain him or something. How cute. He removed her hands from him and moved past her, closer to Martin. "Maybe for you." He could hear the vulnerability in his voice and he hated it. He sounded like Gabriel. This statement didn't seem to guilt Martin at all, he just leaned back in his chair and stared at Sylar, as if pondering about him. Finally, he said, "You said you had questions. Well, ask them." He stared up at Sylar expectantly.
"How does a boy," Sylar asked, pacing, "without a father, grow up to be a man? How does he learn to make the hard decisions he's gonna have to make in life? The ones only a man can teach?" Sylar wanted to bury his face in his hands. He didn't sound like himself anymore. He sounded like the desperate, pathetic, watchmaker who had lived in Queens and lived with his mother. He sounded weak. He hated being weak.
Martin leaned on his desk, using his hands for support as he got to his feet. His eyes flashed with something that looked like resentment. "You wanna apology, is that it? You wanna hear 'I'm sorry for walking out on you and your mother'?" He smirked and Sylar's finger itched to draw a line across the man's forehead. He shook his head at Martin. "I just want the truth." Claire almost sqeaked in surprise. He sounded exactly like her when she talked to Noah. "What about?" Martin scoffed. "That your mother was a sick, infantile woman?" He pushed a way from the desk and moved over to the worktable, grabbing the watch that Sylar had been fixing. "Or that I made a mistake ever to have a child with her?" Sylar's world shook and he glared at the old man with accusing eyes. "Well, lets start there, because you never had a child with her." He cocked an eyebrow at the man, challenging him. The look on his face was exactly the same as Samson's when he had left home the first time. It was like looking into a mirror.
Martin sighed. He had promised his wife he would never tell their 'son' about the deal he had made with Samson, but he already seemed to know, so there didn't seem to be much of a point. "So who am I?" Sylar repeated, impatient. Martin opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. "Tell me." It wasn't a request, it was a demand. He needed to know. Martin leaned back in his seat and paused before speaking. "You were given to me." He finally admitted. Sylar's eyebrows rose and he waited for the telltale tingling in the back of his head. It didn't come. His voice was eerily calm when he finally spoke. "By whom?" Now they were getting somewhere. Martin half-smiled. "By a man who needed money. Your mother wanted a child and couldn't have one, I wanted out of a loveless marriage and was too much of a coward." He sighed, eyes faraway. "It seemed like the right answer at the time." Sylar dropped onto the chair in front of the worktable, leaning forwards. "Who was he?" Martin took a deep breath before admitting, "My brother." A tear slipped down his cheek and Sylar wiped it away quickly, before anyone could see it. Not even Martin saw it, even though he was right in front of him. "Is he still alive?" Sylar asked breathlessly. Please, please let him be. I need answers. Martin grabbed a piece of notepaper of his table and scribbled something on it, before handing it over. Samson Gray, it read, then below it, an address. He waited to see if there's any tingle in the back of his head, but there wasn't. "You're telling the truth." Sylar breathed. God, he was so close. He could feel it. "Now, please leave." Martin ordered. Sylar felt Claire sigh in relief at this. It was obvious she was overjoyed at the prospect of leaving. He slowly got to his feet and hesitated for a moment, his finger trembling with the desire to cut the man's head open, to cause him pain, like the pain he had felt when his mother had told him his father had left. It was almost as if Claire knew this, she jerked to life from her position in the corner of the room and grabbed his jacket, dragging him towards the exit. "No need to kill the guy," She whispered as she dragged him towards the door. "Are you sure?" He muttered back.
"Wait..." Martin's voice stopped both of them in their tracks. He looked questioningly at Claire. "Are you his girlfriend?" He asked, rubbing his glasses. "Urm..." Claire hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, I am." Behind her, Sylar snorted. Martin gave her a small smile. "Take care of him." She smiled. During their little talk, Martin had seemed almost emotionless. It was nice to see he cared at least a little about someone, even if that someone was Sylar. She nodded. "I'll be sure to, Mr. Gray." And with that, the tall, dark haired man and the petite blond cheerleader were gone.
"What was that?" Sylar asked, immediately after they got out of the shop. "And how exactly are you going to take care of me?" His tone lowered and he waggled his eyebrows at her. She found herself grinning at him, and the seriousness of his conversation with Martin seemed to melt away in the bright sunlight. "Shut up." She replied, still grinning as she got in the car. "'Cause you know, I have some suggestions..." Sylar followed her into the car, now smiling slightly as well. She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm sure you do." After that, they settled into a comfortable silence. "Where are we going?" Claire asked, after a while, noticing that they weren't on the route back to the motel. "First, we're heading to a Target to get some clothes," Sylar replied, "after all, I don't want you to have to strip for me every night." Claire's face turned a bright red, and he smirked. "Unless of course, you want to." Claire glared at him and gave him a hard shove. "Ow..." Sylar rubbed his shoulder, but his smirk stayed.
Peter stared in silence at the dead body being wheeled into the ambulance truck. He could have saved him. He should have saved him. The scene around him was chaos and heartbreak, a scene he was familiar with, but could never get used to. This was going to be a drinking night, he was sure of it. Hesam walked over to him and started loading things into the ambulance truck he was leaning against. "So, you planning on seeing him?" Peter's brow furrowed, not sure who Hesam was referring to. "Who?" Hesam, smiled at him and clarified. "Your brother. He's in town. Saw him on TV this morning." Peter shrugged. "Not really talking at the moment, but I might. My mom wants to see me, and I've been wanting to drop by and see my niece." Peter frowned as he thought of Claire. She hadn't called him in a few months, not since the whole Pinehearst fiasco. Which was weird, because they usually made it a point to talk at least once a week. "Since you're not talking, maybe you won't mind me being honest. He scares the crap outta me." Hesam leaned against the ambulance cab, looking troubled. Peter's frown grew deeper. "Why's that?" What's Nathan done now? He wondered to himself. "You see, my family's from Iran. The things he's talking about, protecting the country from dangerous people..." Hesam shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It's code. Not very subtle either." Hesam scoffed. "He's talking about people like me; we're different so we're scary." This caught Peter's attention. Different. Special. They were almost the same. What the hell was Nathan up to? He knew it couldn't be terrorists, like most of the people out there were thinking, Nathan didn't believe in terrorist threats. 'All nonsense' he had once scoffed. So what was Nathan talking about, 'protecting the country from 'dangerous' people? "But you wouldn't know anything about that." Hesam continued, oblivious to Peter's worried thoughts. Peter smiled at this. "Believe me, I know more than you think." He slipped on his overcoat, grabbed his bag and made his way onto the road, hailing a taxi. It was time to speak to his brother.
"87th and Madison." A familiar voice called from the backseat. Mohinder glanced into the rearview mirror, and lo and behold, there sat Peter Petrelli. The very man that had almost threathened his existence a few months ago. But, Mohinder was not one to hold grudges, and besides, in Peter's eyes, he thought he was doing the right thing. "Hello, Peter."
Peter looked shocked for a moment, then smiled and chuckled slightly. "Mohinder. This is a coincidence. Last time I saw you-" Mohinder cut him off. "I know. It's been a long time." He smiled tightly at Peter in the rearview mirror. "Keeping out of trouble?"
"Trying to." Peter replied in an off-hand manner. "Although, you ever get the feeling like you were meant to do something extroadinary?" Both of them shared a chuckle at this. It was like a rerun of their first meeting. Then Mohinder's expression turned slightly darker and he replied, "I used to. Turns out I was mistaken." He sighed as he turned into another street. Peter nodded in understanding. Sometimes, it was just easier to give up instead of chasing destiny. "Talk to anybody?" Peter asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Try not to. Everybody's under the radar. Except for your brother, of course." Peter twitched visibly. "Well, you know Nathan." He joked bitterly. "Everytime I pick up a newspaper or turn on the TV, there he is; right on in the open," Mohinder sounded almost jealous. "And he's not wrong, you know. These powers, uncontrolled, unrestricted? I see only danger in that." Peter raised his eyebrows. "Do you?" Mohinder nodded, unfazed by Peter's incredulous tone. "I was living proof of it." Mohinder shrugged matter-of-factly. "Okay, so what happens when the government wants to step in?" Mohinder shrugged again, caught off guard by Peter's suddenly serious tone. He smiled lightly at Peter. "That's a necessary risk I'm willing to accept." Peter's expression had darkened and Mohinder could see that his eyes were angry. Why is he taking this so seriously? Mohinder wondered. It's not like it's actually happening, right? "Segregation. Camps. People hiding underground?" Peter shook his head at him, like he couldn't understand him. "I guess in that case, we'll agree to disagree." Mohinder stopped the car directly on the edge of 87th and Madison, and Peter reached for the door, before turning back to face him. "How much do I owe you?" He asked, smiling slightly. Mohinder shook his head. "It's on me." Peter smiled wider and waved. "Thank you. Take care of yourself Mohinder." He opened the taxi door and got out. "You too, Peter." He grinned. Peter was one of the first 'Heroes' he had met. He was the true embodiment of what it meant to be a hero. Selfless, brave and powerful. No matter what happened, he was glad to have met him. He was just about to pull away from the curb when another man in a grey trenchcoat opened the door to his cab and got in. His face was taut and his eyes were hooded. He reminded Mohinder of a corpse. "Where to my friend?" He asked the man, jovially, pulling out of the curb and heading onto the main road.
Peter unlocked the doors of the Petrelli mansion, stepping into the wide, marble-covered foyer. "Ma, Claire, you here?" A lone figure in a suit standing by the window of the balcony answers him. "No, their not home." Nathan turns to face him. "Been a long time, Pete." He continued, smiling slightly. "Sorry, I've been out of touch, I've been a little busy lately." Peter watched his brother carefully; he was clearly on edge about something. His shark-smile was in place, and his posture was tense and unnaturally straight. Something was very, very wrong.
"Yeah, I'm sure you have. What with all the press you've been doing." Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked towards Nathan. The shark smile widened. "Ah, the media. They like new and shiny." Peter's eyes narrowed. He hated it when Nathan was in his 'politician' mood. You couldn't trust a word he said when he was like this.
"You go the whole world thinking your talking about terrorists, but we both know who your really talking about." Accusation.
Nathan smiled at him wryly from his position by the window. "What can I say, Pete, I mean last time I tried to expose us, I got shot. I'm not gonna repeat the same mistake." Confirmation. Peter's heart broke.
"So what are you going to do, huh? Kidnap the entire population of us? You seem to be forgetting one, very important detail." Peter stepped closer to Nathan, face contorted with anger. "What's that?" A single tear slipped free from Peter's eye. "You're one of us, Nathan." Peter turned away from Nathan, grabbing his bag and heading for the door. "Tell mom and Claire I said hi." Nathan stalked after Peter, stopping him just before he got to the door.
"Peter, wait!" Peter slowly turned to face him. "What?"
"I'd like to talk to you. How about dinner, tonight? I'll text you where and when." Nathan stared beseechingly into Peter's eyes. Peter slowly nodded, and then without a single word, he was gone.
Nathan grabbed his phone as soon as Peter was out of sight. "Tell Noah Bennet to meet me at my brother's place. I want a peaceful extraction. No one should get hurt."
Noah stared at Mohinder's limp body. One down, a few hundred to go. His mind wandered to Claire. Sylar had been untraceable for weeks, and that meant Claire was also untraceable. Nathan had guranteed him that he had every available resource looking for Claire, and of course he spent every waking moment of his life trying to find a lead, but so far they had nothing. He cursed and kicked the cement wall in front of him. What was he doing to her now? Was she okay? Would he ever see her again? The questions clouded his mind and he felt his vision go slightly hazy with frustrated tears. He quickly wiped them away before anyone could notice. No matter what happened, at that moment, he swore; he would find Claire, and he would make that son-of-a-bitch pay. Whatever it takes.
Okay, second chapter done! This is only the first part of A Clear and Present Danger, so if you're wondering why there are so many missing events, it's because this is only the first part. Reviews are awesome, so pls don't forget to leave one!
Thank you to cerberus angel, for helping me with some ideas, you were awesome! And you people should really check out her story, The Protector, and the other Sylaire oneshots she has done, their amazing as well:) Also if you are looking for more Sylaire awesomeness, check out julyisfree, Anei, Purple Lex(happy belated birthday!) and PensAreAwesome. They are the best of the best:)