A/N: Not by me! Written by half_stack. What happens when Hiro's attempted to be bagged and tagged by Elle Bishop? She gets sent to the past. The eighties to be precise! And a hunky looking stud with feathery blonde hair and blue eyes just so happens to come to her aid- and in due time wind up being her partner. Things get a little weird.
She had been sent back to a place where she didn't exist- yet. Frustration and fear dwelled in her mind when she realized that there was really nothing she could do about it. "I'm a living anachronism," she said, right before she took a drink. She had been sitting at a bar since early this morning, drinking herself to death. She certainly couldn't drink herself back to the future. So as the alcohol began to inhibit her body, he fingers slowly, one by one, released the glass as she fell off her seat and onto the floor.
She woke, beads of sweat formed on her upper lip, her body, hot, exuding heat instead of electricity. Her first instinct was to run, but the alcohol consumed her like quicksand. She lit up a spark, lighting the dark room, finding books on a shelf and a poster of some baseball player she didn't care to find out. She was twelve when she realized that she could never be in any real danger. With her ability, she could always find a way to fry herself out of a situation. She lay still and motionless until she heard the sound of keys thrown onto a surface. He entered the room, a tall, blonde man with blue eyes wearing an old suit that might've very well been his father's. He disregarded her, looking for something in one of what she presumed to be his closet. She pretended to fall back asleep until he told her that he had already seen her eyes open.
"They messed up on your license, according to the date, it says that you were born in '83. That's only, hmm, three years ago?" he said as he took a seat next to the bed.
"So what," she replied as she rolled over and covered her head with the blanket. He left the room and told her to lock the door on her way out if she wasn't interested in finding out what had happened to her. She waited a few moments after he left, and got out of bed. She slowly walked out of his room, her sparking fingers tracing the walls. She examined his face. It was oddly familiar. What the hell happened to me, she asked as she leaned against the kitchen counter. The place was small, a one bedroom apartment in New York City. He stood across from her, in the process of delving into a freshly fashioned sandwich when he told her of last nights events.
"Some guy was trying to take advantage of you, I just pretended that you were my girlfriend, picked you up, and let you sleep," he said.
"Was that before or after you took advantage of me?" she asked, as she attempted to take the sandwich out of his hands.
"Believe what you want to believe," he said, indifferently. He took a bite of his sandwich and sat down in the adjoining living room. "Like I said, lock the door on your way out," he propped up his legs and turned on the television to a baseball game. "Purse is on the table," he added. She left deliberately forgetting to thank him, as he wondered if he would ever see her again.
He had always been known for making good decisions, but walking down a dark alley alone at midnight was definitely not one of them. He kicked a soda can across the street and watched the lights turn off from the windows high above. When he heard the footsteps from behind him, he didn't move until they came to attack him first. With one quick step to the side, the mugger missed him, and the attacker quickly pulled out his gun.
"Give me your wallet," he said, having no affect on the man whatsoever.
"Just calm down, alright?" he replied and he suddenly kicked the firearm out of the attacker's hand. Punches were thrown, here and there, until the mugger had picked up his gun from the ground and pointed it at the man's forehead. In an instant his life flashed before his eyes until a blue streak sent the man with the gun to the floor. He looked behind him and saw the same blonde woman he had save the night before. "How the hell did you do that?" he asked her as he got up and brushed the dirt off his jeans. She said she'd explain if he offered her a place to stay, and he did. "Now we're even," he said, as they walked up the stairs to his apartment.
"I'm not from here," she began to tell him. They were both sitting on the couch, beer bottles in their hands. It took him a moment to digest everything, the Company, her powers, a Japanese man that controls time and space. "What's your name anyway?" she said as she circled the rim of her bottle with a sparked finger.
"Call me Noah," he said, setting his half-full bottle down. She nearly broke the bottle she was holding, the revelation of his name needing more time to digest than a bad meal. He asked if there was something wrong, but she just shrugged it off and went to bed.
She was given the privilege of his bedroom while he slept on the couch. Keeping her eyes wide open, she wondered why the hell she was in this mess. She didn't bother asking for his last name, she knew that something so surreal could only happen to her. She shivered at the thought of Bennet seeing her drunk and wasted. She never really knew where she stood with him, he was not in the least a father figure to her, not wanting anything to do with her, but always being there when she was in a ditch she couldn't climb out of. A mission with him played through her head. It was the first time she'd met Gabriel- Sylar. She rolled over and realized that she was sleeping in Bennet's bed. But technically, he wasn't "Bennet" yet. As far as she knew, she probably changed the course of history forever, but that was everyone else's problem now.