The Biography of January Jansen

"I pull you from your tower, take away your pain. Show you all the beauty you possess, if you only let yourself believe." –Sarah McLachlan


Chapter One

Where does it come from?

Love.

Are we all born with the capacity to love? Is love a choice? Does anyone really willingly fall in love? Or is it like an earthquake; unexpected and ruthless? We all search for answers in this world. Answers to our hopes and dreams and souls.

But...why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream?

We are born alone. We walk down the path of life alone. And in the end, we die alone. We do not take anything with us when we die. Not money, or family, or even love. We spend our entire lives looking for love. Looking for someone to spend a lifetime with us. We seek to be complete. To be—perfect and whole.

But that's not human nature.

On the sixth day, God created Man in His own image. And we are told we are all children of God. And that God loves every one of us, like there's only one of us.

But we are left to wonder for ourselves: Is God lonely? For if we are, His loneliness must be amplified a thousand times over.


"Jan, he's not a toy."

Jude Jansen has always believed that it were the things you didn't choose that make you who you are. It wasn't the decisions, or the judgements. Perhaps those shape you and mold you; but they don't define you. It was the things you couldn't change. The things given to you from the very start. Things like...your city, your neighborhood, and your parents. But for Jude Jansen, it has always been his sister—his twin, who acquired the instinct to leap without looking, and forevermore made him who he is.

January Jansen smiles with glee she doesn't think she can hide, "He could be." She whispers demurely.

Carefully, as not to disturb the sleeping boy on the couch, she hooks that stubborn lock of his that's always falling into his eyes around her finger and tucks it neatly behind his ear. It stays there in place only for a few seconds, before coming loose and flopping back into place.

She giggled.

She leans up real close, pushing her long hair over her shoulder, then shyly reached out. She runs a finger down the straight, noble line of his nose. She tries to contain her beam, biting hard on her lower lip, as his mouth curved dreamily.

Oh, he was perfect.

"Jan..." Jude starts. He's wounded his fingers around the top of her arm and gave a light tug. January fell back with a little gasp, but then her expression soured, and she hurriedly swatted his hand away. "C'mon, Twin. The man's tired. He deserves a nap without you hovering over him like some goddamn satellite."

He's so pretty, though.

Jude yanks again and she slaps his wrist, eliciting a sharp yelp. January tries to muffle the sound by jamming her palm up against his mouth but it was too late. The boy stirred from his position on the couch, his graceful brows crinkled and his lashes fluttered. Then those familiar droopy eyes opened, and January smiled.

In her mind, she called him Pretty Peter Plaything. And how very pretty he was. His deep brown irises always peered at her with so much bewilderment and suspicion. As if she had some sort of ulterior motive. Like he thinks she's tricking him with her grins and flirts.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty." She greets quietly. January makes no attempt to hide the face-splitting smile pulling at her lips. Tilting her head, she concentrated on tracing the contours of his sharp cheekbones. His eyes are still hazy with sleep, which he tries to blink away. He would squeeze them shut then force them wide open. There are flecks of green in his chocolate gaze.

Pretty Peter Plaything.

January Jansen is 8 years-old again. She's standing in the Carolina State Fair and hiding behind Jude's coat as he slithered his way through the crowd like a slippery eel, all focus directed towards the Tilt-a-Whirl. And that's when she saw it. In one of the game trailers. A soft, bright teddy bear dangling delicately amidst the lights. She doesn't care for the tiger that roared or the huge pink bunny for the 1st prize winners. No sir, she doesn't! But she can imagine the bear in her hands; velveteen and ragged. So she tugs on Jude's sleeve and points to it.

She wants it.

Wants it, wants it, wants it.

Her laugh might've sounded a little too breathless when he murmured dazedly, his musical voice muted, "Jan?" And she might've nodded a little too eagerly as his mouth fell into an endearing, lopsided grin. And she might've been a little too impulsive, tracing the outline of his bottom lip with her thumb, but she didn't care.

No, she didn't.

Not even when Jude cleared his throat and Pretty Peter Plaything sprang up like some Jack-in-a-Box. She merely plops down on the couch and shamelessly presses their sides together. He's warm. And January beams.

She knew she would be in big trouble if daddy saw. He would lecture her on chivalry and how to be a lady and blah blah blah. Don't go down that road, honey. We both know how this is going to end. Daddy would say. Then he'd list names: Remember Drew? And that nice boy Johnny? And what about Nate from the football team?

She'd sigh and roll her eyes. She doesn't want to listen because she knows he's special. And daddy's just too blind to see it. Daddy doesn't flat-out tell her 'no' because he knows what will happen if he does.

The little girl at the Carolina State Fair pitching a fit until she gets that damn bear.

Yes. Yes, daddy. I remember. But Peter is different! Oh please, daddy, oh please. He's the one, daddy. He's the one for me. She would promise daddy all the things in the world. That she'll love him forever. That this is the only boy for her! And that why wouldn't daddy believe her? Oh, she won't have her heart broken.

But daddy wouldn't have it. You're a dog chasing cars, Jan. You wouldn't know what to do with one if you caught it.

She tries to reason with him, of course. Oh, daddy. It's always been him. Ever since grade school. Daddy, please. Those other names didn't matter to her. Drew and nice Johnny and Nate from the football team. All she wanted was Peter. Pretty Peter with his floppy hair and crooked smile.

And she gets angry.

January Jansen tells daddy that she won't take her hands off Peter. She won't stop making him dizzy with her 'pretty smiles' and 'empty words'. She won't, she won't! She will do whatever she pleases with him and that is that.

"How long was I asleep?" His voice is always so smooth, with just an undertone of a rasp. He always sounds so flushed and breathless. So very, very boyish.

She loved it.

She beams and scoots closer. Her fingers climb their way up his arm and onto the nape of his neck, playing with the dark curled strands there. He's wearing this thin white t-shirt, and he looked so messily delicious in it. She liked him better when he's being messy and tousled, because when he's all proper, he's always saying crap like 'Pardon me' and 'I apologize' and he'd duck and shuffle around her as if she were the plague.

"Just an hour or two." Jude is channel-surfing. "I told the elf not to bother you," He tosses a pointed look at January. He doesn't continue his disjointed sentence, "Sorry for waking you, man." He stops on the news network. And then they start talking about baseball.

She plays with his ear.

So pretty, she thinks. When was the last time Jude brought home someone so pretty?

Twin is distracting Pretty Peter Plaything, filling the gap between them with batting averages and injured pitchers and homeruns. She rests her chin lazily on his shoulder and traces the soft shell of his ear. His disheveled locks are all tangled and so she weaves her fingers through them. And she gives into an effortless smile.

He reaches for his glass of water, extending his arm like extending his will, but he's too tired to incline forward for it. She takes this opportunity to press his palm to hers, like they're comparing hands, then lacing their fingers together into a lock.

He doesn't object. He just gives her an all too-familiar look; his brows crease and his puppy eyes are narrowing with caution. It's so cute how doubtful he is. How he scowls slightly at her smiles, how he shifts with unease when he realizes that she's not going to stop touching him—oh no, she didn't think she was capable of keeping her hands off him.

January laughed. Her Pretty Peter Plaything is always so full of suspicion. Like he wants to accept all her grins and touches, but was much too afraid to—as if she would bite him or something. His chestnut brown gaze, endearing and terribly helpless, peer up at her, through layers of lashes, making her stomach flip-flop.

"I heard that we're getting new batting cages." Twin is still prattling on, his buttery blonde hair hung in a disorganized mess atop his forehead. She knew automatically that he's been skipping his monthly trims with mama. "Isn't that great? I mean, finally! How long have we been waiting for those?" He shakes his head, trying to jerk the vision-disturbing strands out of his charcoal eyes.

Peter chuckles. His smile, deliciously crooked. "Forever." He agrees.

She liked the way it sounded. The way it slipped out of his mouth like a sigh, and lingered in the air like a promise. She liked how it sent butterflies palpitating through her chest and how he snuck a shy glance at her that he thought she couldn't catch as he said it.

Peter stands up, saying that he promised his mother he would be home for dinner. Jude waves a lazy good-bye from the couch but she jumps up as well, playing the courteous host and follows him to the door. She watches as he slides on his messenger bag and readjusts the straps, pushing his bangs behind his ear. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

She clears her throat and decides to take the initiative when he wouldn't, "Are you coming to the game on Friday?"

He blinks, and offers January a nervous, but warm smile, "Yeah. Wouldn't miss it for the world." He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, inquiring quietly in his soft husk, "You'll be cheering, won't you?" His grin grows wider, "Number 13, right?"

She beams, satisfied that he had remembered. She tries to ignore the loud, steady thud of her heart pounding against her throat. She nods, "That's right."

They stand there in silence for a few moments. Then Pretty Peter pulled something out from his pockets. A little wooden box she recognized from a neat boutique. She cradles it in her hand and stares at him, bewildered, with her blood thundering in her ear.

He tries to shrug nonchalantly, but his pale skin is stained red. He fidgets with the hem of his t-shirt, "It's for you. I—just...you know, saw it and thought you'd like it." He murmurs, flustered and hesitant. She pops the lid open carefully, and smiles. He stutters his way for an explanation, "They're ribbons. For your hair."

She almost squeals. Oh, Pretty Peter. Oh, you shouldn't have, she wanted to tell him. Her heart's hammering and it's all because of him. She throws her arms around him and presses her face to his the crook of his neck. He smelled mouthwatering—like pine trees and the grass field. He tenses after a few seconds and hurries to untangle their limbs. Then he wishes her good-luck before promptly fleeing out the front door.

January Jansen is 8 years-old again, stomping her feet for that velveteen teddy bear. And she knows, that when she gets it, she'll feel like the most special little girl in the whole wide world.

Pretty Peter Plaything with the softest fur she's ever touched.


"Jan." There's a hiss to her left. Huh? Was she being called on? What class was she in? What was the answer? False? "Jansen!"

January snaps out of her daydreams. Which is really a shame, because Pre-Calc and Mrs. Johnston really does nothing to hold her attention. She blinks rapidly to clear the foggy images in her head before turning in the direction where her name was called.

It was Nate. Of course it was Nate.

"Hmm?" She acknowledges with a hum. She pretends to focus on the whiteboard. It was filled. What? X to the sixth power over Y to the eighth? What does this have to do with her? She scribbles away furiously on her notebook, perhaps she'll ask Twin when she sees him. Or—no, she should ask May. Usually, January wouldn't bother paying attention to exponents and polynomials and imagin-fucking-nary numbers, but she's barely holding on with a passing grade, and she needs a passing grade to stay on the squad.

And she needs to stay on the squad because Peter was coming to the game Friday.

Nate tugs on the hem of her flirty leopard print dress. It was sky blue and January thought that it was destiny pounding on her front door when Peter stepped into Jude's car this morning wearing a crisp baby blue button-down. They matched, she had pointed it out to him. He tries to play it off casually, of course, smiling and shrugging with a polite, "I guess we do." But she knew better. She knew he was just as excited as she was. He was just better at hiding it.

"Do you know what's going on with Jude? He skipped the last two practices. I didn't tell Coach anything, but he's gonna notice if his star Running Back is missing during the game."

January waves Nate's concerns away with a bat of her hand, squinting hard at the equation on the board. There were a lot of Xs and Ys and Zs. She doesn't exactly know what to do with them. "He met a girl somewhere...been hanging around her a lot." She bites her lower lip. What is this, exponents can have fractions? "I wouldn't worry 'bout it though. I think they broke up a few days ago."

"How do you know?" Nate fits the definition of All-American boy by every standard. He was the Quarterback of the local high school, his golden hair is always shining like a halo, and his skin is bronze from hours out in the sun. His eyes are sparkling green, and they had managed to dazzle and captivate her for a few short weeks before she decided—once again, that Pretty Peter Plaything is going to be...worth the wait.

"Because it's Jude," She retorts, a little irritated that he wasn't going to let her concentrate on completing the goddamn squares. "He's chasing after a new skirt every week. You know how it goes."

Mrs. Johnston is asking for the class to pair up. She's babbling some nonsense that Jan didn't understand about coefficients and quadratics and slopes and Jan just wants to rip her hair out.

Nate scoots his desk next to hers instinctively as she brushes the scattered pieces of notes aside absently to make more room. "I like your hair." He whispers slyly.

January pushes a hand through her long hair, and grinned. The scarlet ribbons thread into her half-updo is hanging girlishly between her shoulder blades. She tangles her fingers through it for a moment and muses, "Yeah?" Then the words bubble out of her happily, "Peter gave them to me."

Pretty Peter Plaything is sitting near the front of the classroom and chatting easily with his partner, a shorter guy wearing glasses and a marching band T-shirt. He's writing down equations and reducing exponents skillfully, and he would flash that silly lopsided grin of his when he realized that he made a mistake every once in a while.

"When are you and Petrelli going to get together?" Nate raises a sandy brow, "Really. I mean, I really doubt he's that oblivious. You've been pining after him for a whole decade now."

Has it really been that long? Jan stares at him incredulously. She was kind of embarrassed, because it seems that everyone knew of her hopeless crush. She was kind of angry too. Nate was right. How could Peter not tell? She's pretty sure that she's dropped a fuck-load of hints throughout the course of ten years. Or did he just choose to ignore her?

"How do you know I like him?" She questions stiffly, trying to appear indifferent.

Nate laughs, "You haven't worn pants ever since the Truth and Dare game two years ago when Petrelli admitted that he thought you were leggy." Nate's emerald eyes gleamed as he smirked, "Since then, it's been miniskirts and tiny dresses. Don't think I didn't notice. Not that I'm complaining, of course. After all, you do got amazing legs."

Just then, as if he heard his name, Peter peers up at her from his worktable. His boyish hair is falling in front of his dark eyes, they were deep and burning and fervent. Copper, interrupted by flecks of green. Poetic, almost. But when he catches her dove gray gaze, he jerks his head away, turning abruptly to his partner, his neck hot with a fiery blush.

"Do you think he likes me?" It was a childish thing to ask. And it wasn't like she was 6. But she couldn't help herself. She had smiled; she had flirted; she had worn skirts in the dead of winter! What else does he expect her to do?

Nate smiles without humor, "How could he not?"


She shows up at Pretty Peter Plaything's locker with her trademark grin, impish and charming, after class. His locker door isn't decorated like hers. It has a little dry-erase board and a little calendar but that's it.

She almost pouts. He can be so terribly dull at times. But it's all right, when he finally comes to his senses and starts being a brave little bear and ask her out, she'll spruce it up for him.

Taking her bottom lip in with her teeth, she beams, "Hey, Peter."

He seems pleasantly surprised, his brows shot up, but his lip pulled crookedly. He prods the too-long locks behind his ear. "Jan." He greets, his voice husky and breathless. His cheeks are rosy again, he tries to hide it by digging into his messenger bag. "I—I um, I'm," He chuckles weakly, "I'm glad to see you with the ribbons. I didn't think you would wear them."

"Hmm..." January almost purrs, running her hand up his arm, where the sleeve of his shirt is pushed up to his elbow, as he exchanged books from his locker. His skin is hot and smooth, with the subtle curves of muscles. The vein by his temple pulsed. "Why not?" She inquires, she touches her hair self-consciously.

He shrugs, "I didn't think you really liked them." He confesses. It was endearing, how uncertain he was. It made her heart skip beats and her throat to tighten.

She doesn't just like them, she wants to say. She likes him.

But in the end, she offers simply, "I love them."

Pretty Peter chuckles. It's the sweetest sound she's ever heard. "I'm glad you did." He jams his Math books into the locker shelf. She watched, happily mesmerized, by his slow, cautious motions. He'd check over the homework for his next class meticulously before embossing it with his name. He reads a little Post-It note stuck onto his hung jacket, 'borrowed ur eng lit note. ~Jude'. When he notices that she's still leaning dazedly against his locker, much like some fangirl, he adds gently, "You look good, Jan."

She perks up like a sunflower. Straightening, she slides a bit closer, her back against the cool steel wall, her head tilted against his open door, and she stretches a leg casually, so that their knees touched. She flashes him her most tempting, sultry smile.

He doesn't take the bait, respectfully taking a step away from her. Her stomach dropped and hissed in disappointment. His puppy eyes are sad and pained again. And it bugs her. It bugs her that even when she hands him those little opportunities she knows he's trying hard to resist, he never looks the slightest bit glad to see her.

So, frustrated and antagonized, she hooks her pale fingers around his ear and tugs; giving him a little jolt, for being such a sad little plaything. And he shakes his head, gasping for breath she's quite proud she took.

He says it hurts.

This makes her beam, and yes, she knows she does it far too much when she's around him. But she doesn't fully care if people around here start to talk. She knows it's bound to happen. Because Peter's so very good at making her happy.

"You'll get used to it," She tells him coolly, even though her insides are swarmed with hornets. She sends him a sly look, "Then you'll start to like it." She chimes, in a voice that sounded oddly like a promise.

And when he does, she'll be the happiest 16 year-old in the world.

She walks down the hall with a leap in her step and a flutter in her heart.


End Note:

Our little January was quite the little vixen in high school, isn't she? But this story is a companion fic to 'The Man With Few Words' and it explores the depths and past of January in greater detail. I'm pretty proud of this piece mostly because it veers SLIGHTLY off the topic of fanfiction and goes more out on the limb of original fiction.

But I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a fellow fanfiction writer named 'Lint' who wrote one of my favorite stories 'The Hint of a Spark' and inspired me to kind of give January this very childish and immature mindset. Janie right now is a very, very typical high school girl but she always makes me smile when I write about her so I hope she makes you smile when you read about her, especially if you're having a bad day.

Thank you all for giving this story a chance! And feedbacks are always MUCHO appreciated.

Question of the day: What do you think about January's narrations so far? And Pretty Peter Plaything?

--Loves, Kitty.