That's What You Get
/Set four years after season two. Song quotes are important in this./
Chapter One: A Riot In Me
No, sir, well, I don't want to be to blame - not anymore. It's your turn, so, take a seat, we're settling the final score. And, why do we like to hurt so much? I can't decide, you have made it harder just to go on. And why, all the possibilities, well, I was wrong. That's what you get when you let your heart win. I drowned out all my sense with the sound of its beating…
"Zeitgeist…"
The word echoed in the silence, a whisper with no origin, or destination. But, it hung there, still, far after it had been uttered, rolling through her mind like wine. The room was in darkness, only faint orange light from the street lamp outside the apartment window illuminating the harsh edges of the bed she sat on. She liked the gloom, to hide there indefinitely. Knowing that, when she was alone, in the inky blackness…nothing, and no one could touch her. Not any more.
**
"And a love story means nothing. Because love is nothing. It's not an emotion, it's not a state of mind, it's a fallacy. An untruth we invented long ago. Something with which we comfort ourselves when we are alone. It is nothing more." he sighed, "It does not exist. We are alone."
Break down again, I'm suffering again. I can't find a way out, I can't find a way out.
Molly Walker opened her eyes blearily, and yawned. Pushing herself off the bed, she looked around with an air of curiosity, long since wasted on her own bedroom but still remained. It was a habit of hers, one that had developed after she'd moved in with Mohinder and Matt. She was so worried that she'd wake to find them dead, like her parents, that the checking of rooms had become a ritual. Every single morning, and each night. The bogeyman still lived on in her dreams, taking away Matt and Mohinder when they morphed to nightmares.
Checking the clock quickly, Molly began foraging for clean clothes through her room and when she found none, padded out into the living room in her pajamas. The room was in silence, but immaculately clean. Unlike, when she had gone to bed the previous evening. Molly peered at the annoyingly plain calendar hung by the main room's clock. A large red X labeling Mohinder's return was on the day's date. This explained the apartment's state of cleanliness.
"Mohinderrrrrrrrr?" Molly whined plaintively, hoping he would appear like a helpful Indian genie, laden with the latest fashions for her to choose from. Sadly, he did not. In fact, it wasn't even Mohinder who greeted her with a smoking pan of freshly cooked bacon.
"Good morning, Molly." Grinned Sylar.
**
"Ha! Finally legal! " Claire Bennet yelled in triumph to her friends as she pulled up to the restaurant they were meeting at. She flashed her newly gained identity card at them and grinned with excitement. "Oh, dear, sweet, twenty-first year of life - treat me well. Let me drink every night and not have a hangover. And, yeah…God, let me drink A LOT!" Jumping out of the car her friends crowded round her, shouting enthusiastically.
"Your dad would so go berserk-o if he knew, Claire…"
"You gonna tell him, Trent?" she asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly to the brunette that had addressed her.
Trent frowned at her disapprovingly at her, and she pouted. The pair then broke into wide grins, Trent reached for her, winding his arms around her waist and pressing his lips lightly to hers. More general whooping of another kind erupted within the group, and Claire started laughing.
"As long as you don't tell, I won't." he winked, taking her hand and leading her to his own car. Leaving her neat, red Porsche exactly where she'd promised her father she would.
The lurid orange Lamborghini that had pulled up beside her car, lowered the window on the driver's side. After the blond inside the sports car saw Claire leave in Trent's friend-filled land rover, he cracked open the low door, stepped out. The side-walk wasn't as clean as he would have liked, and he only just managed to avoid a particularly muddy puddle situated unhelpfully close to his car. Scraping his Italian leather shoes against the asphalt quickly, should a spatter of mud landed on them, he turned. Hands in the pockets of his tailored suit, he made his way around the back of his own car, tipping the lenses of his sunglasses slightly. No one questioned when someone in expensive attire wore sunglasses at night in California. So, unnoticed he went, smiling to himself as he accidentally brushed the side of Claire's car and went into the restaurant.
Perfect.
**
"I took a chance, I took a shot, and you might think I'm bulletproof - but I'm not…" Bob Bishop rued the day he had given in to Elle's whining and bought his daughter an iPod. Really, he'd had no peace since then. They were always updating, and she always wanted the newest one, or a different colour…but, that he could deal with. What he couldn't stand, however, was her singing. Elle Bishop wasn't a bad singer, but Bob couldn't tolerate the songs that she sang. Behind the times songs, never anything actually popular at the time. At the moment she was hooked on Taylor Swift…a few years too late.
"Elle, sweetheart, could you stop singing for a second and look at this for me?" he asked her, carefully.
Elle's expression turned from melancholy to contempt within seconds. She didn't like being stopped when she was doing something, and singing was something she actually enjoyed in her little white, antiseptic prison.
Elle held out her hand for the file, taking it and flipping it open quickly.
"Him?" she queried, her expression becoming that of confusion. Bob nodded seriously, steeping his fingers and then linking them. He twisted his wedding band subconsciously as he watched her reaction.
"Yes, find him for me."
"Daddy…I -" Elle moaned, but Bob cut her off with a wave of his large hand.
"Do as I say, Elle. This is important." He told her sternly. Irritation grating in his tone.
Flicking her blonde hair over he shoulder she nodded, "Fine!" she spat out the word and then stalked to the door, attempting to slam the door behind her. But, as always with the delayed closing doors, failed. Much to her annoyance.
"I'm sick and tired of your attitude, feeling like I don't know you…"
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A/N: I just can't seem to write happy things. Or, at least…I just couldn't write anything at all while I was happy for once…Hence, I'm back writing. I apologise for any mistakes I missed...I didn't have a BETA :(
Muchos regards and love to y'all, Rinsaito.