A Note From Lara: Wow, this is just NUTS how many oneshots and/or drabbles I've written in the past fifteen minutes! I hope somebody besides me reads these! I just felt the need to give love to people NOT of the Petrelli clan.
I never could resist kids. Everybody used to tell me I'd be a great mother someday.
Looks like I'll have to start with being a great cousin, for now. When Micah looked at me, so full of hope that I would be able to recover his dad's medal, I just knew that I'd do whatever it took to get him that piece of his dad back.
God knows, I'd do whatever it took to get a piece of my mom back, even just something small. Most of our mementos got blown away in the storm, so what little I would have had is damaged or lost.
And once I found those assholes who stole a kid's backpack (who does that, by the way? Seriously, haven't they got better things to steal?), I hurried back to the house, eager to tell Micah I'd found them. It seemed somehow to be a bigger moment than it really was. This wasn't just about getting back a few comic books and a boy's treasured memory of his father. Not to me, and not to him.
This was about me, as well as him. It was about me accepting this thing I could do. It was about me being Micah's hero. It was about me becoming Saint Joan.
Fat lot of good it did me. First time out as a hero-cum-vigilante, and I managed to get myself caught. Myself caught, and Niki killed.
Why does this always happen to me? I try to do the right thing (get a job to keep my family out of the poorhouse- barely), but it ends up blowing up in my face (can't go to college, can't get a real job, can't earn any real money). I can't seem to do anything right lately.
The way Micah looked at me, I thought I'd be his Supergirl. But now, sitting in the living room and staring at Niki's casket, I'm not so sure.