Title: Broken Roads
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has anything to do with Heroes besides the plotline before you. I give credit where it is due.
Author's Note: I've spun this in my head for quite a bit of time, but now, it just works perfectly with the present storyline. Enjoy!
Summary: What does one do when one lives forever? What does one do when the world grows old? And what does one do when he or she realizes death is no longer an option? (AU-Powerless)
ONE MINUTE AGO
This couldn't be happening. No, no way. She'd watch him die, right in front of her—how can he be alive? How? And making deals? With whom?
"Claire-Bear?" Noah Bennet questioned, softly brushing a lock of golden hair from her disbelieving eyes. "Sweetie?"
"How, Dad? How're we ever going to live normal lives? What… what did you promise them?"
He looked at her pityingly, sorrow riddling his eyes like lighted bullet holes. She used to gain such comfort in his eyes. As a little girl, she used to come to him for answers, for comfort, for support, and she knew, with one look into those eyes, this was not one of those times. Whatever he had promised, he sold his soul on. "I can't tell you the specifics, Claire, but I promise you," he drew her into a bear hug, cradled her as she sobbed, "I'll make it alright. I'm going to make things better for you, for Lyle, for your mother. I'm going to fix this. You just wait and see."
FIVE YEARS LATER
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Alarm clocks were the devil. Groaning, groggy, not-quite-there, she slapped a hand on the snooze button, either completely unconcerned or completely oblivious when it smashed to bits on the nightstand. Oh well. One of a million other clocks she had either destroyed, or shorted out. Besides, five dollar clocks were easy to come by.
Lazily, Claire yawned, scratching her dyed-chestnut hair with an absent hand, and rolled her eyes from ceiling to floor. Crap, she thought, moaning slightly. This place is a mess.
It wasn't the Ritz, but it kept a roof over her head. A small, hole-in-the-wall apartment musty with the rank smell of mildew, rust, and mothballs was not her caliber, especially with the money she packed these days. The old, faded red calico curtains reminded her of those old, traditional picnic blankets—or would've, if the ones she had didn't have Swiss cheese holes. The walls were whitewashed, with water stains from the pipes scaling down like drag racers, trying to see who can leave the biggest rust stains. The bed she was sleeping in sucked, barely big enough for her, let alone the man sleeping next to her, his arm lazily draped around her waist like a human belt.
Speaking of him, she poked his side, rousing him. "Get up. You need to get out of here before the landlord sees you."
The alcohol on his breath was still strong. "Awww, c'mon, Claire. No one has to know 'bout me unless you tell them." He lifted his tousled brown head and grinned slyly at her; his hand wrapped her closer. "You know me. All I have to do is do my thing, and as long as no one looks up, it's all good."
She rolled her eyes, broke his hold, and shoved him, toppling his sleep-deprived self to the floor without a second thought. "I need to get to work, West Rosen. You know that."
"Ow."
"Didn't hurt that much."
He grinned. "But the blow to my pride stings so badly…" Rising to his feet, West scooped her up in his arms, and kissed her. "Your work can wait. They work on your terms anyway."
She shook her head. "No. Not this time."
"Claire…"
"Put me down, West. Please."
The determination in her eyes seemed to have convinced him, but after five years of being with him, some things about him were still a mystery to her. And to him, her, but that didn't matter now. She was needed. She had to go. She just hoped he would still be waiting for her when she came back. West kissed her again, deeper, so passionate, she felt like he was taking her up into the stratosphere again. "Come back to me, Claire," he whispered softly, and put her down.
"I will."
"No, I mean, come back to me. This isn't you. I miss you. You're here, and I miss you, the you you used to be. I miss my baby."
Claire sighed heavily, and held him tighter. "You and me both."
Nothing had been the same ever since that one day, five years ago. Nothing. So she did the only thing she could think of: she kept going. Kept existing. Kept living. It was the only thing she could do.