These Last Four Years
By Asteria
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
00000
00000
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
It was almost midnight when he pulled up outside the Bennet house, turned off the car, removed his glasses (he hated the damn things, but the last time he'd tried driving without them at night he'd run over a cactus,) and began to bang his forehead against the top of the steering wheel.
The next logical step would be to get out of the car, go to the door, and try to explain, but he couldn't just leave Noah in the car, not like this. Hell, he was lucky he hadn't been pulled over, because he would have been arrested and God only knows what would have happened to Noah.
Anyway, current situation aside, he was not going to get anything like a warm welcome. He'd be lucky if whoever answered the door slammed it in his face. Claire or Sandra would probably try to kill him on sight (it wouldn't work, but it would hurt like hell.)
He could bring Noah… no. That would never work. You couldn't just spring something like this on people; it had been almost an hour since the incident and he still couldn't quite believe it.
But he couldn't just leave Noah in the car! What if he woke up?
He looked over at the house. The only light from within was the bluish glow of a TV, so someone was awake, but probably not everyone. Good. Maybe it was the boy (what was his name? Kyle? Myles?) The boy was harmless. The only problem was that the boy was also useless.
He sighed and was about to resume banging his head on the steering wheel when something caught his eye.
Noah's cell phone.
It was sitting in the drivers side cupholder, where it had been since before they got into this mess, and he could swear it was looking at him like he was an idiot.
He could call them.
He could call the Bennets and tell whoever answered that Noah needed their help, but not give any details and not say where he was until they promised to give him the chance to explain what had happened.
Yeah. That could work. It was a good plan (any plan that didn't involve him actually going to the door was a good plan.)
He opened the phone, found "home" easily enough in the list of contacts, and hit "dial."
*ring*
…
*ring*
…
*ring*
…
*ri--* "Hello?"
Claire. Dammit.
"Claire, your father needs your help."
A pause, then, suspiciously,
"Who is this?"
"Gabriel."
"Who?"
He rolled his eyes, even though he knew she couldn't see him.
"Sylar."
*click*
He really should have seen that coming.
Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he should find a hotel, get some sleep, and then come back and tell them in the morning. If he brought donuts they might agree to hear him out before they started throwing heavy things at his head.
No, because lights had started going on in the house, which meant that Claire had told Sandra, who was going to come out here and try to kill him (did Noah have a gun besides the one currently in the glove compartment? Probably. He was from Texas.)
The door of the house opened and four people- Claire, the boy, Sandra, and another woman- stepped out and headed straight for him.
He sat up, adjusted his tie, and, after a moment's consideration, put his glasses back on, in case he needed to make a quick getaway.
They approached the car, Claire in the lead, Sandra with one arm protectively around the boy, and the other woman bringing up the rear, holding… was that a handful of fire? (Now wouldn't that be useful… No. Focus, man. This situation is bad enough.)
Claire glared at him through the window.
"What have you done with my father?"
Without meaning to, he glanced at the passenger seat.
The four outside followed his gaze. Curled up on the seat was a blond-haired baby, about a year old, wrapped in a suit jacket, fast asleep and contentedly sucking on his own toes.
They stared at the child, at Noah, for several very long seconds.
He cleared his throat, and they looked at him again, wearing identical expressions of angry skepticism.
"I can explain."
00000
00000
Notes: I wrote this almost immediately after "I Am Become Death," and have only just gotten around to typing it up. My original plan was to start posting it only after I had most of the story written out, but that situation is looking less and less likely, so I'm posting this, and maybe someday I can wrestle the second and subsequent chapters into something resembling coherency. But, for now, this is what it is. I leave the explanations up to you.