So… hi. I'm a little new to this writing fan fiction thing. I got into Heroes this summer and I thought it would be fun to create my own character and insert her into the series from the beginning. Yes, I'm kind of living through her, no she's not completely me. Like I said, this kicks off around the beginning of the series and if you're a rather large fan then you'll have no trouble understanding where it is in the story (hopefully). I tried my best to stick to the story, but a few things may change just because it's so difficult to make everything match up perfectly. Again, I tried my best.

I DO NOT OWN Heroes or any of the characters created in the series. Also, a lot of the dialogue is not mine. However, Nora is totally mine and anything she says (or thinks) is courtesy of myself. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One: The Beginning

I hate tomatoes. And pickles. And onions, oh my gosh, onions disgust me. But oddly enough I like a good onion ring… Does that really make much of a difference if it's breaded and deep fried? I bite on the cap of my pen, thoughtfully. I can't stand it when people only talk to you if no one else they like are around them and then ignore you if they're with friends. I mean, how lame can you be to treat someone who was good enough to talk to in a room full of strangers like crap when you're around the so-called "better people" the next minute? You might as well not even talk to me at all. I can handle innocent ignorance, but if it's shallow ignorance? I hate it when people wear band shirts only because liking said band is In at the time. I like asking them really detailed questions about the band just to watch them squirm. That doesn't make me a bad person, right? They deserve it, I'm telling you!

"Nora!" My head shot up, breaking off my well strung out thought process. "Order up!"

"Got 'cha!" I replied, jumping up from my seat at the end of the counter. I danced around the tables, making my way to the backside of the diner and grabbed the two plates of food for the two lonely customers in the place. Well, I take that back, there was another person. But all he ever drinks is coffee. He sat at the complete opposite end of the counter, content with being left alone. I could always spot his shadowed, larger frame from the corner of my eye. He seemed nice enough. It was Saturday evening, seven after six, to be more specific, and the place was an absolute ghost town. The man and woman looked relieved as I set their food in front of them.

I moseyed back to my spot at the counter, picking up my worn out pen and bringing it to my lips again. A powerful piano-driven song suddenly came on over the radio speakers, with a singer that had a voice of which wouldn't be written off as Just Another Singing Voice to me. A smile crept to my lips. Any guy who plays piano and sings like an angel deserves, at the very least, a smile. The bell on the entrance door rang loudly and clearly, telling everyone in the restaurant they had more customers. I looked up from behind my dark-rimmed glasses to take note of the number of seats about to be filled. Six people. Pretty average-sized group. I stood up yet again, put on a smile and sauntered over to the table. After getting all of their drinks and orders, I walked back behind the counter, grabbing the coffee pitcher and stopping in front of the dark-haired man sitting at the counter. At first, I said nothing, but leaned down slightly, hoping to catch a glance at his expression.

Giving up, I let out the usual, "More coffee?" hoping I hadn't disturbed him. Poor guy, he always acts so upset. Whatever it is, I hope it isn't too terrible. Just as my thoughts trailed off, his head slowly began to raise until he was looking at me, then I realized for the first time what his face looked like. Round. And deep brown eyes, caring and lonesome. My eyebrows came together in concern. He tipped his head to the side in thought. I let out a short breath. "…Is that a yes?"

His expression suddenly changed, no longer looking as if he were concentrating on a difficult math problem and let out a small, almost sad laugh. "Yeah… yeah, sorry." I lowered the pitcher to his cup and filled the coffee to the top. "Thanks," was all he said as he brought the mug to his lips. I stood there for a moment, watching him until I suddenly decided to go against the grain of my usual diner routine.

"Ya know, not that it's any of my business or anything, but lately whenever you've come in here, you've seemed a little… bothered and I just was wondering if you were alright," I blurted out, obviously catching him off guard. His eyebrows rose and he was looking at me again. I closed my eyes and breathed out a chuckle. "I'm sorry, that was a bit rude. Forget I said anything." Very nice, Nora. You're just giving off seven different kinds of strange, aren't 'cha? He doesn't know you. His head was tipped to the side again, forehead scrunched up in intensity. What is with that look?

"It's fine," he suddenly replied, breaking me from my thoughts. "It's very kind of you to genuinely be concerned about someone you don't even know. That's nice of you," he murmured. "It's just been a long past couple of months, I guess." Fair enough. I let a sincere smile slowly appear on my face. Usually I use my generic smiles for customers. Be happy. "Well, may the next couple of months be a few notches above satisfying." With that said, I turned, walking back to the opposite side of the counter, setting the coffee pitcher back to it's rightful place on the way. The rest of the night passed slowly, people came, ate food, and then cleared out one by one. Tips were decent. The only customer who remained inside the diner was the man at the other end of the counter with the weird faces, drinking cup after cup of coffee silently. I was beginning to worry when my boss stuck his head through the door to the back of the restaurant.

"Hey, Nora. I'm gonna take the trash over to the dumpster. Be back in a bit. Are you good?" he asked.

Taking a good look at the empty room, I nodded and smiled. The man at the counter stood from his spot and walked away, heading towards the men's room. That's a relief, I was afraid he was going to fall asleep right there. Suddenly the door rang and a man dressed in a navy blue jacket and black boots strode into the building.

"What can I get you this evening, sir?" I asked the man as he continued to approach the counter. I immediately noticed his left hand was deep inside of his jacket pocket and he didn't look like he wanted a cup of coffee. Within seconds, his hand was out of his pocket and I realized he was grasping a gun in his desperate, shaking hand. "You can give me all the cash you have in the register," he said, threateningly. I froze and averted my eyes from the weapon in fright.

"I don't want any trouble," I whispered, backing up. He walked closer to me, leaner over the counter and raising the gun in my direction. "Then you won't have a problem getting me that money," was his cold reply. After what seemed like an eternity (which in reality was a few seconds) the man appeared in the men's room doorway, immediately aware of what was happening. He began walking toward the thief, with obvious intentions to take him down. I began to see everything in slow motion. It's funny, in movies when these kind of moments occur in slow motion, you're quite aware that time didn't all of the sudden decide to slow for effect. But when you find yourself in this type of situation, you discover that it's exactly like a movie in every way.

The arm attached to the hand holding the loaded gun rotated from me to the man from the other end of the counter and I was panicking. He was innocent. An innocent life taken away. He probably had a family. And friends who cared about him. How can I just stand here?! The loud pop of the gun firing woke me and I lost focus. I screamed in pure anger, adrenaline pumping through my veins, beads of sweat hot on my forehead. Why this restaurant? Why this night? Why me? Why him? Why did we have to die? NO! I exploded and an overpowering energy that I can hardly describe or explain suddenly burst out of me and created a shockwave, aimed directly at the armed man in front of me. Then… silence. The man in the jacket and black boots was on the floor, unconscious. Knocked out cold. I heard a pained cry from the corner and remembered. The bullet. The shot. The man. I ran out from behind the counter to the man. He had the gun shot wound in his arm, grabbing at his sleeve protectively, but it wasn't his injured arm he was staring at. His caring and lonesome brown eyes were on me in shock.

"How did you…?" All I could do was stare back. What did I just do?! Why is that man unconscious when no one touched him? You didn't get close enough to knock him out, right? "I did not touch that man," he told me in awe. My eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"I didn't say you did," I replied breathlessly. He only stared at me. I let rigid breaths as I ran back to the sink, grabbed a clean towel, and ran it under the faucet. I also grabbed the phone. "Put this to your arm," I ordered handing the damp towel to him, then dialing three simple numbers and pressing the phone to my ear. How can we explain the man on the floor? My eyes darted around the room quickly. They landed on the pots and pans hanging upside down. I hit him upside the head with a frying pan. Yeah. The man sat there all the while quietly.

"So he held a gun to you demanding money from the cash register…" I nodded. "And then a customer came out of the men's restroom and he turned around and shot at him…" I nodded again. "And then while he wasn't watching, you grabbed a frying pan and hit him in the head with it, knocking him unconscious?" I nodded yet again. The short police woman nodded in reply, looking down at her notepad. "Okay. I'll be back. You stay put."

I suddenly sat up straight. "Is he alright?" I asked. She turned back to me briefly.

"He'll be fine. Just a bullet to the arm. No major damage." With that she left the room, leaving me alone. I slouched back down and yawned. I wish I, at the very least, knew the man's name so I can send him a balloon or something. I wonder what he thought he saw? I wonder what I thought I saw? I'm more than aware that the thief was not knocked out with a cooking pan. Was it me? It couldn't have been the customer. He wasn't close enough to reach him, much less punch him. I sat in utter frustration. Think back. What exactly happened? I was standing there behind the counter and the gun was pointed at me, then the man came out of the bathroom and came at the thief who then pointed the gun at him, releasing me for the time being. Then… I got angry. I got sad. I got hysterical. And… some strange, extraordinary feeling came over me and some type of strong force was pushed from me and was sent across the room. I knocked him down… with that 'strong force'? What was that?! I tried to make sense of it. But that's not possible? …Is it? The door suddenly burst open and the police woman strode back in.

"Alright, Miss, you're free to go." I stood quickly, thanking her and exiting the room. I was escorted out of the building. Is it possible that the man knew what happened in the diner? After all, he was gawking at me in utter shock. Maybe he knew what it was that I did. Walking down the sidewalk, still in my waitress uniform, I looked around me cautiously. Maybe I should visit him, try to make sense of what actually happened. On the other hand, maybe he has no idea what happened and was staring at me in utter shock because he was scared out of his wits. He probably thinks he saw something straight out of a Fantastic Four comic book. He probably told the cops everything. Although if that were the case, why would they let me go? I ended up not searching for him, but instead continued to live like that night never happened. I continued working at the restaurant, jumping every time the bell on the door rang, signaling a new customer, none of which was the person I was secretly watching for. Eventually I didn't jump as much or scan my eyes over the opposite side of the counter, wondering if he was sitting there.

Two weeks went by and still no sign of the man. On a cool, breezy night I turned off the lights to do restaurant and turned my back to the sidewalk, pulling out the key. I stuck the key into the slot and turned it until it clicked. I then suddenly felt a presence behind me. I stood still for a moment, just listening. Then I felt the lightest touch on my shoulder blade and I jumped, twisting around in fright only to find the man.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said awkwardly. My hand left my chest.

"So you sneak up on people on darkened street corners at night then tap them on the shoulder in hopes of not scaring them?!" I cried somewhat dramatically.

He just looked at me with the same familiar brown eyes.

"Yeah."

I let a short breathe before stuffing my hands in my pockets and beginning to walk down the sidewalk. He walked along side of me for a few moments before speaking. "Look, I wanted to talk to you about a few things," he began, staring at the side of my face as I looked straight ahead of me. Oh, great.

"And what exactly would those few things be?" I questioned, slowly. He did see. He saw and he thinks I'm a freak.

He looked at me for a moment before continuing. "Well, first of all, I wanted to.. thank you," he said just as slowly.

"For what? You got shot because I stood there like a baffoon. I didn't do anything," I replied, a hint of regret in my voice. Why couldn't I have exploded with anger a few seconds sooner?

"You stopped him with your…" he trailed off. I looked at him.

"With my what?" He used his good hand to make a pushing out motion. My mouth opened, but I said nothing. I closed it. Then decided to go ahead and open it. "That… wasn't me."

He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "How do you know?" I made a move to try and get around him, but he only moved with me. I frowned.

"You don't even know me, okay? Why are you here?" Why can't you just move on with your life like I'm attempting to do? Even if you do know what happened, what then? He stared at me for another moment. "Why do you always look at me like that?!" I pushed passed him and started to walk again.

His feet remained planted where they were.

"Wait! I know what this feels like, alright? And I know what really happened back there… to a certain extent." I rolled my eyes and kept walking. So, what? What can you do with that information? Tell all of your bar buddies you saw a crazy waitress who knocked out a man using her mind? "You're special, Nora!" I stopped walking. Turning on my heels, I strode back to him, stopping directly in front of his face.

"What?"

"And I know this because… I'm special too." He looked at me with a serious expression cemented on his face.

"Enlighten me."

"Okay… You hate tomatoes," I stood there, staring at him for a moment as he pulled a face as if to remember something. I tried to slow down my heart rate. I never told him that. "… and pickles. A-and you absolutely hate onions, but you like onion rings, which doesn't make much sense. And… and the very first thing you saw in me was my eyes. You thought they looked caring… and lonesome." There was a small twinge of sadness in his face as he said this, almost too small for me to see. "You love rain more than anyone I've ever met before. Your favorite flowers are irises. And… you have no idea what happened to you that night two weeks ago," I was speechless. My brain wouldn't process it. How…?

"I don't really know. I woke up one day and out of nowhere… I could hear people talking without them saying anything. I can hear anyone's thoughts, yours included. You think you're a freak and that I think you're a freak. But I don't." My mouth was gaping, I simply couldn't believe what I was hearing. Who are you? I asked in my head. He stared at me for another moment and then, with a small smile, said quietly, "I'm Matt Parkman."