Disclaimer: Heroes is the creation of Tim Kring and NBC Television; it is not mine Written for kiarasayne in the 2008 Multifandom Femme Ficathon.
"The Beat Goes On" by Karen
Monica Dawson had always known that she was meant for something special, even in the midst of working two jobs just to make ends met. Even when it seemed that all she had left to hold onto was hope and a dauntless courage that she felt came from both sides of her family, Monica never gave up.
She just never expected that it would mean she would discover a latent ability, so when Micah arrived and later on when Doctor Mohinder Suresh further explained how her powers worked, well, Monica felt a sudden upsurge of hope that had not completely been burned out, but hope had begun to ebb and flow of late.
She still wasn't exactly certain what she wanted to do with her newfound abilities, after all, her cousin's Micah's assertion that she should take on the role of masked and costume crime fighter St. Joan, a character from the pages of one his beloved and ragged comic books was one thing in theory, but in the very day life, not exactly a good idea in real life.
There were all kinds of heroes and Micah was still young enough to believe that if you tried hard enough, if you believed and were a good person, that everything would work out in the end.
'Poor kid,' Monica thought as she slipped in the door of her home and slipped the key into her pocket, he was still having difficulty accepting the fact that both of his parents were dead. and in a back part of her mind Monica still a bit guilty for what happened when that warehouse burned down.
She knew it was not her fault, not entirely. After all that gang bangers who had held her captive had poured oil onto water and that had caused the fire, and left her to die there. It was hard, but it had to be done.
She shook her head to clear it of any lingering memories and walked into the living room, passing her grandmother on the way, who was occupied in stirring a boiling pat of water with a cutting board beside it where a neatly stacked assortment of vegetables were laid out, ready to be put into the pot. Monica caught a whiff of the pungent aroma of okra, carrots, and onions, and managed a tentative smile.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, and her grandmother's cooking was a mainstay.
"Hi, baby," her grandmother greeted. "How was your day?"
"Fine,"Monica replied with a wave. "I'm just gonna change out of my uniform."
"Supper will be ready in about an honor," her grandmother replied. "Be sure and tell that slugabeed Micah, to remember to wash up before then, okay?"
"Sure thing, gram," Monica said and continued on her way.
As she stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room Monica's attention was caught by the strains of a melody that she had not heard in quite some time. She stopped in mid-step and closed her eyes to better try and identify the faint but haunting melody. That it was coming from her deceased mother's piano was unmistakable and with her eyes still shut she made her way over to stand in front of the piano and sit down on the bench.
When she thought she had a last identified the melody she opened her eyes.
To her surprise Micah was there also, his long delicate fingers flying over the keys, picking out the tune as he went. She did not want to interrupt him at the moment, too caught up in the sensation of being swept up into something bigger, finer than whatever else had gone before.
"Monica, did you feel it,too?" Micah finally asked breaking the silence that had held them for so long.
"Yeah, I did," she sighed. "Micah, that was beautiful."
"Did you recognize the melody," he asked.
"Debussy, am I right?"
"Yeah, but I took some libirities with it, and I added a few more bars to the middle of some of the passages," Micah offered a with a shy smile. "Did you like it?"
"Yes, very much," Monica smiled and this effort was stronger and one that lit up her eyes.
"Could you do it again?"
"Yeah, if you want me to," Micah replied. He turned his attention back to the keys and began playing. Within her own family, no one touched that musical instrument for the purposes other than dusting, or tuning it once every six months. It had belonged to her mother, and after her mother's death, the piano was more like a family heriiloom, not for use as a musical instrument.
Then Niki and Micah had arrived, and within a few minutes of watching Micah play she had been able to duplicate flawlessly every note and every movement of his fingers over the keyboard, and the strangest thing about that discovery is that she had never had a single piano lesson in her life.
While he played Monica found herself swaying to the melody, and this time trying to go with the flow, to let it dictate the motion of her body was something that did not need to be studied or imitated; it just came to her naturally.
The steps and the rhythm as natural to her as breathing, and for the first time in a long time the hope that had begun to ebb and flow out her in the past several weeks bubbled up in time with the swelling of the music's final bar and to Monica's way of thinking, this felt right, this felt good.
Caught up in the music and in the rhythm Monica closed her eyes and simply danced.
Suddenly completely oblivious of anything else going around her even Micah at the piano or the last faint glimmers of sunshine streaming in through the window causing tiny triangles of light; she just kept on dancing.
She danced and danced until the music stopped and she could hear their grandmother calling them both to come and eat supper.