TITLE: The Boy of Tomorrow
RATING: PG-13
COUPLE: Claire/Zach (Clach)
SUMMARY: To win the battle of the future, Claire must save one last ally with powers beyond compare.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Heroes and am not making any profit with them. They all belong to NBC. If they were mine, then I guess I'd make Zach and Claire a couple and wouldn't let Thomas Dekker leave for „The Sarah Connor Chronicles" (because I would have hired him with a contract and not per episode).
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Several things you should know before reading:
#1: English is my second tongue – I haven't spoken it properly in years; I only write in it, so I'm sorry for all my grammar/spelling problems you might find.
#2: This is a Claire/Zach story. If you don't like them as a couple, you should probably leave.
#3: This is AU, as they probably won't hook up on telly among other things. Unfortunately.
#4: I had the idea to do this when thinking about World of Warcraft's character class „Paladin" and it's implications. If you are familiar with it and know what it has in common with Bastila Shan, you maybe know what this is about.
#5: Heavily inspired by Terry Pratchett's „Wintersmith"-poem, which belongs to him and I'm not making any money with it. There are also cameos of several concepts, ideas, TV series and movies I enjoy. Have fun finding them.
#6: I wrote this out of a desire to think about the „other trouser leg of time", were everything ends up well and is painted in pink – or any other color that makes you think of Barbie's dream house and puke. In other words: This story will have an happy ending, a bit more sense of humor than the series, will possibly be Out-of-character for several Heroes, if they appear at all. That's because I'm a happy, positive person who loves to write „dramatic mush". Now you're warned.
#7: No Zach in chapter one.

Happy reading.

The Boy Of Tomorrow (1/?)
by Dare

Grass.

Lots of it.

Covering the land until it touched the horizon. The sky has a strong streak of blue, seemingly like ink, but where it touched the silver line at the end of the world, it changed to violet, orange and red.

A boy stood there, in the fields, amidst the green plains. He took a breath, closed his eyes and smiled. Jasmine. Lavender.

The scent tickled his soul and made it squeal with happiness.

This was the perfect dream, Sanjog Iyer realized. And this was also a place that had to be passed at the end of life. But for now, Sanjog was contend by just sitting here, feeling life in all it's forms passing the sphere of dreams, as he marveled in it's beauty.

Dreams are endless – he didn't realize when the small voice started calling him. Persistently. Time and again. After eons spending here, or just after some seconds, he opened his eyes and looked around.

The fields were still covering the lands, now waving as a strong breeze came by, rushed through his soul and made him gather his senses.

He was not alone, he realized. In the corner of his eyes, he saw someone standing – and when he turned around, someone shimmered into existence.

He couldn't say who – or what – the person was, as she or he was standing there, a mere shadow of a human, staring at him from a face that was no more than a large puddle of silver fog. More of them appeared in silence, like the clay warriors guarding their king's eternal sleep.

As Sanjog reached out for them with senses he couldn't even remember he had when he was awake, he realized that they were from the past, the present, the future, the never ending flow of time. And just like their clay made counterparts, their king was among them.

A mere child, Sanjog realized, younger than himself. A boy with thick, round glasses that made him look like a rocket scientist, ready to save the world. Dark blond, tousled hair, slightly wavy, dressed in Jeans and a plain, white shirt. His hands were deeply shoved into his pockets and when he looked at Sanjog, he realized the degree of his power.

A power to change the world – for the better or the worse.

Sanjog had never met him before.

„Greetings," the Boy said and smiled.

Sanjog hesitantly returned the smile. „Greetings."

„I am sorry to disturb you," the Boy said. „Especially in a place like this. But I think there is something I you need to help me with."

„Do you need advice?" Sanjog asked.

The Boy's smile grew and a white row of teeth started to show. „Not the kind of advice you are offering," he said. „It's something entirely different. It's about the unique souls that have gathered in your age. You need to help one of them, since another has reached full maturity and will soon display a very special power."

Sanjog tilted his head a bit and examined the boy carefully. Not much information was leaking from him – there was a huge wall around him, built by a very strong consciousness. But he realized – it was not this that made the boy special – his consciousness. It was his life – or really the place were it originated from.

The Boy grinned. „I see you have found out that I am not entirely alive."

„But you are not dead either," Sanjog replied. „You are neither."

„Well," the Boy nodded. „You have to be born by someone and made human – in my case. Enough Strength to built a home, enough Time to hold a child, enough Love to break a heart; you know what it takes to be human."

Sanjog remembered the lines from somewhere else. „No, the last one is ..." He furrowed his brow. He couldn't remember. Then something else occurred to him. „You are just an What if ... aren't you?"

The child laughed and brought him back to concentrate on the here and now – even if it was difficult to say what was here and now in a place like this.

The gray people around them still stared.

„Yes, I am. Will you help me?" the Boy asked.

Sanjog sighed. „That depends. After what happened and considering who is out there, I cannot --"

„I know," the Boy said. „And I know about your difficulties. But I have a suggestion to make: if you find faults in my plea, I will go and --" he grinned. „Bother someone else. But I assure you I mean no harm."

Sanjog Iyer decided to listen. He always did that with anyone coming to visit him. And when the bBy had finished there was silence for a very long time. And finally ...

„You cannot be serious," Sanjog said.

„I am," the Boy answered.

„No one noticed."

„I know. You will realize it when you come near him and listen closely – he is the key and the power to win any battle you will ever heed."

„Will they find out?"

„They already have," the Boy said. „Please. Find him in time. Save him. He will save her – and the world. He is hope and faith. Future and chance. Everything we've got. They are everything I've got to end my What If ..."

Sanjog stared at him. Enough Strength to built a home, enough Time to hold a child, enough Love to break a heart. But the last one was not right ...

„What's you name?" Sanjog asked.

„Jack," the Boy answered. „Jack. The Boy of Tomorrow.

Hopefully."

Claire Bennet's day had started like this:

She had found out that piercing her liver, her left lung and her stomach didn't kill her – it didn't even hurt properly, but just ruined her shirt and lead her mother to ask stupid questions. She had found out that it wasn't useful or fun to do it without actually documenting it.

No one was there with a camera and Claire refused to think about it.

School had proven to be quite stressful, more than usual, especially since there had been a slight argument between Mrs. Austen, the English teacher and Marcus Wickham, a boy in her class („Mr. Wickham, my eyes are up here." „Are you implying that I was staring at your bustline?" A snort. „You don't even have one.") Result: Detention for the entire class.

Claire's mother had found remnants of her several previous „attempts" of Claire's more suicidal phase and Claire had tried to explain them away; all under the critical eyes of her father.

And finally, half dead, she had fallen onto her bed, completely drained.

A hell of a day on a world on the edge.

And the worst thing about it – now, she was all alone, when he had gone away. Moved away. Disappeared from her life.

A fact that totally sucked.

She drifted towards sleep and closed her eyes. Images rose from the depths of her memory; she hadn't seen some of them in ages. In that place between being awake and being in the middle of a dream, she suddenly found it so easy to scan through them – memories of her first day at school, her seventh birthday, her firth encounter with Jackie, her first meeting with a dark-haired, awkward boy who had looked at her with an expression on his face that made her feel elated and uneasy at once.

There was some kind of recognition between them, but then, the memory subsided and others emerged. Her brother, her mother, her grandparents, her real grandparents, her mother. With some horror she realized that some memories were entirely dedicated to fashion or to make other people feel miserable.

There had really been times where she had been a mean, ugly person – almost Jackie-like. It made her writhe uncomfortably.

And suddenly, the memories were gone and she was standing in her room. The colors of the wall, the bed and the drapes had disappeared – the entire room was gray and dull, but somehow shiny.

And when she looked around, she realized that someone was laying on her bed. And with a second glance, she realized it was herself.

She was sleeping, rather peacefully, and – Claire bend down – drooling a bit. Great.

For a moment she panicked, not knowing what to do and then, there was an audible Click within her head, the panic subsided.

Silence followed.

Then a voice.

"Hello?"

Claire turned around. No one was there.

"Claire Bennet?" the voice asked. It was young – and definitely belonged to a girl. "C'mon, say something, I don't bite."

"Who the hell are you?" Claire snarled, turning around.

A giggle. "My, my, aren't we defensive," she said, and sighed. "I was really doubting this would work, considering the thick head of yours. Just wait a second."

Claire felt a twinge inside her head and sat up with a start – only finding herself sitting on her bed. Her room looked normal – multi-coloured, even, and she decided that her nerves were finally getting at her, when she turned around and looked at --

"Hi."

-- the grinning face of a young girl sitting on her bed.

Screaming, she scooted back and fell, not very graciously, out of her bed. The girl peeked over the edge and looked down at her. "Are you all right?" Then, she giggled again and knocked the side of her head lightly. "Oh, sorry, my bad. I always forget that you are always all right, considering who you are."

"And who am I?" Claire snapped, trying to regain her dignity.

The girl smiled. "The Cheerleader, of course." When Claire got up, the girl swung her legs over the bed's frame. "Who do you think you are?"

The girl – possibly no older than ten – had dark shiny hair that fell down her back in a carefully braided plait. She was pale and thin – and was wearing black clothes. Her shirt had a picture of Emily Strange on it, her mini skirt small, dark gray skulls and her shoes seemed to have been polished for an entire night.

She was Wednesday Adams on Ritalin, Claire decided, when she saw her friendly, but a little bit scary smile.

Claire shook her head and tried to suppress her anger. "What are you doing in my room?"

"Meep," the answer came. "Wrong question. Try again. I'm not in your room."

An impatient sigh. "This is enough. You are going to leave now, or I'll have my father throw you out," Claire said, pointing towards the door.

The girl shook her head and smiled. She seemed to enjoy this too much for Claire's taste. "I don't think so. Or do you want to have another encounter with the dark-skinned, scary man your father is working with and who can erase people's mind?"

"What?" said Claire sharply.

The girl looked at her innocently. "What what?" she asked.

"What did you just say?"

She thought for a second, looking towards Claire's ceiling with a slightly tilted head, her forefinger o her chin. "Meep?" the girl finally proposed.

"No!" Claire snapped. "The thing before that."

The girl took a heavy breath and shook her head. "Look, Claire Bennet. Why don't you sit down and calm down a bit and I'll explain everything to you. Then, there will be no need to shout or get angry – which is bad for your karma anyway, and frankly, quite annoying, as we are going to be stuck together for some time now. Okay?"

Claire thought about a lot of things that moment.

About screaming and calling her father or just fainting (which wouldn't work no matter how hard she would try). In the end, she sat down and listened to the girl's story.

And after it, she decided there was only one word for it.

"Insane. You are completely insane."

A dangerous, mischievous glint appeared in the girl's eye. "We will see. Have you ever seen Ghost?"

End (1/?)