Spectrum Volume IV: Liberation
A Heroes/Fringe Fanfic by SJO
Note: "Heroes" is owned by NBC Universal, and "Fringe" is owned by 20th Century Fox, not me. You need to be familiar with my previous volumes of "Spectrum," as well as with "Redemption" from "Heroes." Occasional spoilers from "Fringe" will be put in, but I'm not following that storyline as closely. Unlike my previous Heroes fics, I cannot think of many subplots, so there will probably only be one or two, making a rather straightforward storyline, which may turn out to be good.
Chapter 1: So-so
"There are others like us out there, in the darkness, in the light, each searching for meaning in a world that won't accept them for who they really are. They, like us, are blessed with extraordinary abilities, but they see their blessings as curses, blemishes from keeping them from becoming 'normal.' They, like us, struggle with finding their place in an ordinary world. Yet, they have not seen what we have learned, that 'normal' is an illusion that this ordinary world has created. Every one of them deserves a chance to be themselves, but to what end, for what purpose? Here, in this place, we offer acceptance. We offer love. We offer redemption. And one by one, they will come to our side, to our family, to our home. And all who are gathered will be strong, and all who are gathered will stand together."
At those words, Samuel Sullivan choked back a sob. It wasn't because of the loss of his brother, for he had been maintaining that rather well. His eyes turned and saw the one person, a lonely child, the only one standing apart from the group. He loved that child. He cared very deeply for that child, but the love seemed to come back empty. It seemed all but impossible to make this person a part of the family. Yet, Samuel was never one to use the word "impossible." He hoped, perhaps more than anything, that he could find some go-between so that he could reach this distant part of the family. It had to be that there was someone like that out there.
So he sighed. "I say it's time we found our way back home again." Then he tossed a compass into the grave. "Find your way home, brother."
Washington D. C., Kojin Sushi Restaurant
"Do I like sushi?" Nathan Petrelli asked.
"You're the one who asked for yellowtail," his mother answered. "I wanted Italian."
Nathan cautiously picked up the fish with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth. "It's interesting."
Angela Petrelli nodded. "Life is about new horizons. It keeps you from getting old."
"Exactly. You know, these last couple of weeks, I've been taking inventory of a lot of things. I feel like there's a lot of . . . I don't know, Ma. Guess there's a lot of change going on with me."
"Really? How so?"
"I don't know. It's like when I look back on my life, it just seems like it's not my life I'm looking back on. You know, actually, I think it all started with Gabriel's question. You remember, in Coyote Sands? He asked me to tell him about his mother. Evidently, I had her as a babysitter at some point. And I promised him I would tell him everything I remembered about her. I still want to do that, but I can't remember a thing. I've been getting headaches trying to recall Ruth Shaw."
"Well, you were little when she did that, Nathan. When I first laid eyes on her, I was holding you in my arms, a month old. You must have been only about five when she offered to watch you when your father took me out."
"But I feel like I had a lot of memories, good memories that I really wanted to tell Gabriel. And now, they're just gone. I feel really bad, like I'm letting that kid down."
"Gabriel will understand."
"I don't know, Ma. I mean, we're talking about a kid who used to compare me to Hitler."
"He's gotten past that, Nathan."
"That's a tough thing to get past. I got to do my part, too. I got to change everything. I want to reconnect with everyone in my life who's important, and this time I'm going to be a better me. But I just feel like I can't do that with Gabriel until I remember something, anything. Ma, can you help me?"
Angela Petrelli leaned back in her seat and tried to think of something to say.
Boston, Massachusetts
After what seemed like an hour, the nurse came back to the hospital room. "Well, all the tests came back normal."
The patient cringed.
"What's the matter? That's good news."
"Je suis desole," (I'm sorry) he replied. "It's that word, 'normal.' I hate that word."
An African American woman with him patted his arm reassuringly. "Gabe, in this instance, there is such a thing as normal, and it's a good thing."
"I know, Astrid, it's just . . . "
"Well, the bottom line is, you didn't have a heart attack," the nurse spoke up again. "We see no damage to your heart whatsoever. Your cholesterol is excellent, and you're in perfect shape."
"Then why does it hurt?"
"Why don't you describe the pain for me again?"
"I told you! It's so bad, I can feel my heart in my chest. I can trace it with my finger. I'm aware of the chambers, the ventricles."
"Yes, but the pain? How strong is the pain?"
"It came so suddenly. It felt so sharp, like someone stabbed me with a knife."
"Does it still feel like a knife in your chest?"
"Well . . . non, now it feels like . . . a bad cut that's healing. The pain's still so bad, it's all I can think about. But it isn't as strong now."
"Gabe, how are you feeling?"
"I told you! My heart hurts!"
"I mean, emotionally, how are you feeling? Are you sad? Angry? Scared?"
"Astrid had a word for it earlier today. It was a strange phrase I had not heard before. I think it was 'or-or.'"
"Or-or?"
"He means 'so-so,'" Astrid broke in.
"Oui, I knew it was two repeated conjunctions," Gabe nodded.
"Okaaaay," the nurse said. "So you felt that way before any of this happened?"
"That's right."
"And are you still feeling so-so right now?"
"I don't see any reason why I should feel any differently. I guess I am a little scared and frustrated. But overall, I am in-between happy and sad."
"Gabe, did something happen to bring about this emotion? Something traumatic?"
"Not really."
Astrid scoffed. "'Not really'?" She looked at the nurse. "A guy was killed right in front of him. Gabe tried to save his life, but it didn't work. I understand they were pretty close friends."
He looked at her angrily. "This has nothing to do with that!"
"Gabe, you don't just get over something like that."
"Well, I did! I have been 'over' Monsieur Rains's death for weeks now. He wanted to die. He told me so. He told me he always had nightmares. He doesn't have nightmares anymore, does he?"
The nurse cleared her throat. "They say the first step in the grieving process is denial. Perhaps you've been denying your own grief, and it hit you out of the blue."
"Non, I don't think so."
"Well, is there anything else?"
Gabe sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I just . . ."
She sat down and looked at him. "Well, bottom line, I think this is not so much physiologically based as it is emotionally based. Perhaps for that, you need counseling."
"You're saying that seeing a shrink will fix my heart?"
"It will be 'fixed' in time, but seeing a counselor will definitely help it recover."
"So there's nothing you can do? No prescription?"
"Sorry, Gabe, there's no quick fix for this kind of deal, but it will go away eventually. Please sign out before you leave."
Astrid and Gabriel both thanked her. The nurse left, Astrid followed, and Gabriel started to follow, but then he heard a voice behind him. "Nothing to do with it?" He turned around and saw Claude Rains standing behind him the room. "Oh, that hurt. That cut me to the quick, mate!"
Gabe just looked contentiously at him. "What are you, a ghost now?"
"I don't think so. Ghosts usually have some mark on them about how they died, and I . . ." he searched all around his person, "don't see any scars or anything. In fact, I don't think I've looked this good in a long time, don't you?"
"Well, you can't be real."
"Of course, I can't." But then he grinned while looking at Gabe with a raised eyebrow. "Or can I?"
Gabe reached out to touch Claude's nose, but the young man's finger went right through his face. "Nope. I think you're a figment of my imagination." He sighed and sat back down on the cot. "Just what I need, my imagination running away with me, making me look crazy."
Claude shrugged. "Hey, that's what I do."
"So, did you have something to do with this?"
"Oh, so now you're accusing me of stabbing you in the heart! Right, I see how it is."
"I thought you just . . . look, if I'm grieving over you, that's what the shrink is going to want to talk all about, and I don't want to discuss something that's not a problem and waste my time again. So, did you?"
Claude sat down beside him and took a deep breath. "No."
Gabe paused for a moment because he thought Claude might say more, but when he didn't, he said, "Well, do you know what is doing this, and what I can do about it?"
He answered softly, "I think you'll sort it out. You're brilliant, you know."
Gabe scoffed. "That doesn't sound like something you'd say."
Claude didn't answer.
"Well it doesn't!" Gabe said angrily as he turned to him, but Claude was gone.
"Hey, Gabe, what's taking you?" Astrid said impatiently as she stood in the doorway.
Gabe sighed and got off the cot. "I'm coming."
"Who were you talking to?"
"No one, I was just thinking aloud." Astrid gave him an odd look. "There's nothing wrong with that. Dr. Bishop does it all the time!" She just gave him an odder look and walked back to the waiting room.
Early the next morning, after a quick breakfast, Gabe went to the lab. Sometimes he was the first person there (if Dr. Bishop hadn't beaten him to it), but today there was someone else hunched over a microscope. Gabe couldn't believe who it was, but as he came close he could see him clearly. "Mohinder?"
The young, Indian scientist looked up, turned to Gabe, and smiled. "How are you, Gabriel?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Well, I just wanted to see what you were up to, the nature of your research."
"But how did you get clearance? And where have you been all this time? I've been trying to contact you for weeks!"
Mohinder, however, turned back to the microscope. "This is truly fascinating work. And you came up with this?"
"Well, me and Dr. Bishop, but that doesn't answer–"
"Gabriel, this is monumental. Actually, not just this. I understand that you are advocating for the rights of those with abilities."
"Well, I am trying to get a group together. That's why I've been trying to contact you. I need–"
"That's awesome, Gabriel. You know, I wouldn't be surprised at all if you won the Nobel before I do."
"Um, I actually find that hard to believe, because you've been doing this for longer, and you know so much more than me."
"I think you'd be surprised. You are a seed, Gabriel. It's your turn to grow."
Gabe was trying to search for a way to answer this when the door opened. It was Dr. Bishop. "Ah! You're here, Jeremiah!"
"Gabe," he answer. For some reason, Dr. Bishop always got Gabe's name wrong. Astrid told him that this was a sign that the doctor liked him because it took forever to pin down her name. Gabe liked to think that. He gestured over. "Dr. Bishop, you always told me that Suresh sounded like a familiar name, so here is . . . " But as he turned around, Mohinder was gone.
"What is it?"
Gabe shook his head. "Nothing."
A little later, Agent Dunham came in, and she approached Gabe. "Hey Gabe, do you like bowling?"
He shrugged. "Not much. I'm not good at it, and it is very noisy."
"Well, I'm going to take Peter and Astrid bowling. Maybe you can come at least watch, man the jukebox, keep score."
"I'll pass."
"OK, uh, there's someone who's usually at the bowling alley who I think will be able to help you with your problem."
"He's a shrink?"
"Well, kinda. He got me through a rough patch, both physically and psychologically. I don't know exactly what his title is, but it worked. I know counselors are usually very expensive. To see him would only cost the shoe rental fee. What would you rather do?"
"I'd rather talk to him in a place outside a bowling alley."
She laughed. "Well, I'll see what I can do."
They ended up going to the bowling alley anyway. Gabe looked around anxiously. "So, where is he?"
"I'll introduce you in a bit," Agent Dunham answered. "Go ahead and pay for your shoes. I got my own. I'll meet you over there."
"Wait a minute," Gabe called after her, but she was already gone.
He turned to a man with curly hair and a beard who looked very impatient sitting behind the counter. "So, what's your size, kid?" he said.
"Actually, monsieur, I'm not sure. I'm not used to the American system."
"Coulda fooled me. Well, I got one of those foot sizers."
"Actually, I would really rather not bowl. I'm just looking for someone here"
"I'm going to get it just in case."
Gabe turned around and looked at all the blinking lights, the people playing, drinking beer. All the loud music and the buzzing, fluorescent lights made him very uncomfortable. Someone bowled a strike, and the loud noise of the clattering pins made him cringe and hold his ears. Yet then he heard a sound that he found more inviting. "YATTA!" Startled, Gabe saw at the front of one of the lanes a man holding his fists above his head.
He ran toward the victor. "Hiro?"
The man turned around, and it was his friend. "Gabriel! Good to see you!"
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I love bowling! One of my favorite places in Tokyo is a restaurant and bowling alley. They serve chicken and waffles."
"Strange combination."
Hiro picked up a bowling ball and handed it to Gabe. "Here. Why don't you take a shot?"
"I'm, um, not wearing the right shoes."
"I won't tell if you won't." Gabe made a face at his friends suggestion of dishonesty, but Hiro continued to offer the ball to him. "Go on!"
Gabe finally grinned. "Alright, I'll do it, but only if you'll stop time after I throw it and kick the pins down."
Hiro laughed. "That's funny, Gabriel!"
Gabe's smile faded. "I'm serious. That's probably the only chance I'll have of winning this game."
"Is that right?" a voice said behind him. Gabe turned and saw the man from the counter with the thing to measure foot size.
"Oh, uh, je suis desole, monsieur. I just saw my friend here, and I got carried away in talking to him."
"What friend? Did he just go to the men's room?"
Gabe turned around again, and Hiro was gone. He groaned. "I can't believe I fell for it again."
"I can. That's why they're called delusions. They're deluding."
Gabe turned back at the man. "Are you the shrink?"
"I like to think I'm rather tall, thank you."
"I mean, the psychologist."
The man extended his hand to him. "Sam Weiss. Agent Dunham told me about you."
"How can you be the shrink? You own a bowling alley!"
"Where does it say I can't?"
"Well, I thought you're supposed to conduct sessions in a quiet, peaceful place." Another strike, and Gabe cringed again.
"Oh, you want more privacy? No problem."
"Comfy?"
Gabe was sitting (just sitting) on the closed seat of a toilet in the men's room with the stall door open as Sam cleaned out the sinks and urinals. "Don't you have a couch or something?"
"Oh, you want to lay down? Well, there's a booth out there that's pretty cushy. Might have a couple of pieces of gum stuck to it, but . . ."
"Non, non, I'd rather be in here than out there. There's just too much going on."
"I see. It's not a really conducive environment for an autistic, huh?"
"Yeah. I was getting close to sensory overload."
"I could tell you weren't comfortable. I know a smelly bathroom isn't much better, but I hope it works. Alright, Gabe, what you first need to realize that what you're going through is perfectly normal."
Gabe groaned. "Non, don't say such things."
Sam smiled and pointed at him. "I like that! I like that a lot! You may be the smartest person who's ever come here. 'Cause you're right; what is normal? Is it normal for a guy like me to own a bowling alley?" Gabe rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should just say, it's typical, expected. Everybody gets a broken heart sometimes."
"But it's not broken! The doctors said it's in perfect shape."
"Well, in an emotional sense, it is. The question is why. Now, Olivia told me–"
"If you're going to bring up my friend who died right before my eyes, forget it. I did some soul searching, and this has nothing to do with it."
"Alright, fine."
"What?"
"You say something's off limits, it's off limits. No problem. So, how's your folks?"
"My folks?"
"Yeah, you know. Mom, Dad, family."
"Well, my mother died when I was just a baby, and I don't remember her. As for Papa . . . you know, I haven't seen him since the funeral."
"The funeral? You mean, your friend's funeral?"
"That's right."
"And that was how long ago?"
"A couple of months."
"See? There you have it. You're feeling down in the dumps because your father isn't around to hold your hand anymore. And again, that's completely . . . understandable. Hey, that's how I felt my first year or two in college. It's liberating, but it's intimidating."
"I don't think that's it either. You know, I was worried when Papa was gone when I first came here, but that was because I didn't know where he was and there were people hunting him down. I think he can take care of himself. I always thought he went back to Paris."
"Well, whatever it is, I think it's obvious to me that you're lonely."
Gabriel sat back. "I think you're right."
"Of course. That explains the delusions of your friends. You miss them."
"You know, I've always been kinda lonely but never this lonely. I mean, it feels almost like someone's torn out a part of my soul."
"It happens. But it'll go away. It always does. What you need in the meantime is some little project to take your mind off of it, something to help you relax and forget your loneliness. Something like . . ."
"Taking care of pigeons?"
"That's an unusual hobby, but it would probably work. Is that what you want to do?"
"Not really. What do you suggest?"
"Ah, you wouldn't like my suggestion."
"It's bowling."
"Yes, it's bowling. But bottom line is, you gotta find out what works for you, what makes you feel good. And make sure it's productive and healthy, not like overeating or drinking. Just anything that if you do it for long enough, it will take those blues off of ya. You know something like that?"
That evening when he got back to his dorm room, Gabe pulled out of the drawer of his bedside table a button that was handed to him in a dream. Just a few months ago, Dr. Bishop put him in a deep sleep with some drugs. Gabe dreamed that he went to a parallel universe. He saw a protest with many of his friends fighting for their rights. The group, strangely enough, was led by Sylar. It was such an inspirational sight that Gabe decided this is what he wanted to do with his life. The button was his evidence that the dream was real. He still couldn't understand how he was wearing it when he woke up. Dr. Bishop explained it to him, but that just made Gabe sorry he asked.
"This should be my project," he said softly to himself. "It's time I got this started somehow. It's just too bad this group doesn't exist here. Wait a minute." Just under the words "Mind Over Matter" was a website address in small type: . "Maybe it does. It's worth a try anyway." He opened up his laptop and typed the address in. He got an error message. So he went on Yahoo, Google, Ask, and Bing, typing into each website the acronym. No luck. He even tried looking it up through Wikipedia, but that did nothing. "I bet Wiki could find it, or Micah. I'll talk to them tomorrow."
"What's the point?" someone asked. He turned and saw Claude sitting on his bed. "Gabriel, let's be realistic. We're never going to be recognized or celebrated for what we can do. Even if we fight for it, we'll just be making a lot of noise. Besides, how are you going to get all these people together anyway? You can't drive, can you?"
Gabe didn't answer him, thinking maybe the best way to deal with these delusions was to ignore them, like John Nash did in A Beautiful Mind. Gabe shut down the computer, lay down on his bed, and turned off the light. But he couldn't sleep. He just couldn't concentrate because some of the things that Claude said were true, and his mind continued to elaborate on them.
As Gabe walked across the campus around noon the next day, someone stopped him in his tracks. "Hey, Gabriel."
"Peter Petrelli?" Gabe looked at him very closely, examining him from his feet to his head. "Is it really you?"
"Yeah, I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought . . . you want to do lunch?"
"Do . . . lunch?"
"Yeah, do you want to go out to eat? I'm craving for clam chowder. It's Boston's specialty, you know. And since you're in the area, I thought I might check in with you." Gabriel reached up to touch his face, but Peter backed away. "Whoa! What are you doing?"
"Making sure that you're real. My imagination has been running away with me lately."
"Um . . . how about this? I'm buying."
"Huh?"
"Would some hallucination be able to pay for your food?"
"Oh. You have a point."
"Good. Now, take my arm." He held out his arm.
"Uh oh, I have a feeling I know what's coming. You got this from Daphne, didn't you?"
"No, she . . . died."
"Oh, I had no idea!"
"Look, it doesn't matter who I got it from. Just hold on."
"Be easy, please. Last time I traveled this way, I–" But just as he put his hand on Peter's sleeve, in almost the next second, they were standing at a restaurant called Legal Sea Food. "Wow, I barely felt that. You were faster than Daphne."
Peter shrugged. "Come on."
Peter ordered a big bowl of clam chowder and a glass of water, but Gabe ordered grilled shrimp, salad, red beans and rice, and iced tea. It was a little more expensive, but Peter took care of it anyway. As they were waiting for the food, Peter said, "So, Gabriel–"
Gabe winced.
"Sorry. You still not comfortable being called that?"
"No, it's alright. I'm trying to get used to it again, now that Sylar's dead. Just like everything else, though, it takes time. I mean, I was just getting used to being called Gabe."
"Well, anyway, how's it going?"
Gabe sighed. "It's going."
"What?"
"That's what we say in France. I think the English usually use a repeated conjunction, what is it, 'as-as'?"
"You mean, so-so?"
"That's right. You know, it's just when you don't feel bad but you don't really feel good. You just feel . . . alive."
"Well, what's the matter?"
"I don't know exactly. I've been seeing you guys–Monsieur Rains, Mohinder, Hiro, but they're not really here. They're all in my mind. And I can tell that it's not them because . . . well, because Monsieur Rains is dead, but the others act in a way that's not like them at all. And then just recently, I . . . do you know that feeling where you can feel your heart inside you, that you can trace its shape, every muscle, every ventricle, because it hurts so much?"
"Yeah, that's called heartache. That's how it feels when your heart is broken."
"But it's not broken. It's still in working order. They even called an ambulance, and they told me nothing was wrong."
"Well, I mean emotionally. It's the kind of feeling you get when you break up a relationship or when you feel homesick or lonely."
"Yeah, that's what everyone's saying, but it just came over me suddenly the other day. I feel empty inside, like something that I used to have was stolen from my soul. I don't understand."
"Yeah."
"So, I'm trying to find a project to fill that void, make me feel better. You remember what I told your mother? I'm trying to get that self-advocacy group started." He looked up with interest. "Hey, Peter, maybe you can be the first person to join."
Peter shook his head. "Sorry. Not for me."
"Why?"
"Because all this information with powers just makes my life complicated. I want it to be simple, just using my power to do good."
"Then why did you want to meet me?"
"I don't know. Maybe it was fate. Maybe I somehow felt that you needed some encouragement. But you know, it wouldn't hurt to get in touch with everybody else we know. Maybe you need to get in contact with these people, maintain these friendships. Because I think you're feeling this way because of loneliness, and you need to feel connected."
"I guess I could try." He sighed again. "Or I could just get used to it."
"Get used to it? What do you mean?"
"I've just been thinking, this is my destiny. This is where I am going to be in the next few years, here in Massachusetts. It's kinda far from New York City, and Texas, and California, and it's very far from Paris and Tokyo, where all of you are. I still can't drive. I can't fly. I'm not a roadrunner or a teleporter. I'm stuck here, for all intensive purposes. So maybe it's time that I say goodbye."
"Gabriel, this doesn't sound like you. You're just giving up? What happened to wanting to winning the Nobel?"
"I'm not giving up! Really, winning the Nobel Prize was secondary to changing the world. I'm dealing with world-changing stuff here . . . if I was allowed to talk about it. And if I can get this group together, that will definitely change things. I'm just trying to be realistic. For instance, I'm still trying to accept that probably no matter what we do, we will never be recognized or celebrated for our abilities. That's just something I got to deal with."
"Gabriel, how can you say that? Didn't you always say you were proud of who you are? Maybe that's what you've lost." He pointed at Gabe. "Do you know what I do?"
"What?"
"Every morning, I look at myself in the mirror, and I say out loud to my reflection, 'You are wonderful. You have been given a gift that makes you incredible, and you are going to use this gift to help people. You're going to save lives today. You are a hero.'"
"And it works?"
"Yeah, it keeps me focused, and it will help you feel better about yourself."
"You know, you may have some wisdom here. All these visions I have, they're always talking about me, about how smart I am and how I am going to do great things one day. Maybe they're saying those things because I'm not saying them to myself."
"Could be."
"OK." Gabe took a deep breath that evening as he looked in the mirror at the lab. "You are wonderful. You have been given a gift that makes you incredible, and you are going to use this gift to help people. You're going to save lives today. Alright, maybe not, but one day you are going to change the world. You are a hero."
"Still talking to yourself?" Gabe looked up and saw Peter Bishop smirking at him.
"Well . . . yeah, but there's nothing wrong with that."
Astrid walked up to him. "How are you feeling today?"
"A little better."
"Good."
Gabe nodded. He did feel a little better because now he knew what he was going to do.
To be continued . . .
