NUCLEAR WINTER
a Heroes fan fiction
by Jennifer A. Johnson
DISCLAIMER: "HEROES" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by TIM KRING, NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION. All Rights reserved. This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended.
ACT ONE.
Bennet found Claire slumped over in one of the plastic chairs down the hall, her face ashen, her blonde hair hanging in her sad eyes in sweaty clumps. Beads of sweat glistened on her face. She had no doubt just been sick in the bathroom. He smiled fondly at her, but she couldn't look at him. "I shouldn't have run out like that. He needs me."
Her voice was small, like a little girl's. In fact, she looked like a little girl. But then again, to Bennet, she would always be a little girl, that little girl with the bright eyes and pigtails that he loved so much. He sat down beside her. "He's your father. I'm sure he understands."
She finally looked up at him. She smiled, and her smile was just as fond of him as he was of her. "Maybe. But you'll always be my dad."
Bennet held out his good arm, and Claire went to him gratefully. She let him wrap his arm around her and kiss the top of her head. He just held her. And then she looked up at him. "Can we go now?"
Bennet brushed the bangs away from his daughter's forehead. He smiled, and though this time it wasn't completely genuine, it was practiced, not forced. "I'm going to call your mother first. Meet you in the car?"
Claire peered at him with those startlingly green eyes of hers. She knew he was lying, she could always tell now. The thing was, she was pretty sure he knew she knew he was lying. Maybe that was their thing now too. She held out her hand expectantly. Bennet handed over the keys. She stood up so that she could look down at him. The light caught the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses, making them gleam. "Fine," she said, and she smiled mischievously. "I'm driving." She whirled around in a great flurry of blonde hair and flounced out before he could even respond.
He watched her go. The smile faded from his face. It transformed into something completely different, something dark. Something not evil, but morally gray. It was the face of The Company Man, the face of HRG.
The Haitian appeared at his side, as if out of nowhere. They exchanged a glance. An entire conversation seemed to pass between them in just that one look. The Haitian slowly nodded.
Cold steel dug into the back of his head. Bennet didn't just know it was Angela Petrelli's gun, he had been expecting it. He could tell, just from the way it felt, that it was a tiny one, a Derringer, the kind that can fit neatly in a purse. Nothing like Bennet's own Desert Eagle Israeli handgun, which could blow a face clean off if the situation required- and it often did. He didn't even flinch. "Go ahead, Mrs. Petrelli. Do it. Pull the trigger. Kill a man while your son lies dying in the next room."
"You're an unfeeling monster."
"Yes," he said, his voice deadly calm. He worked his way into her head. "But I'd never sacrifice one of my own children. Never. I'd do whatever it took to keep them safe."
"That was Nathan's fault," Angela said, her dark eyes darting around. "If only he'd stuck to the plan, Peter would still be alive." Bennet could tell, just by the slight change of inflection her voice, that she suddenly wasn't so sure.
His own voice stayed exactly the same. Same inflection, same pitch. Same deadly calm tone. It never changed. "I was talking about Nathan. Even if he does recover from what happened tonight, he'll never recover from what you've done to him."
A sob caught in Angela's throat. The gun shook, not a lot, but just enough for someone like Bennet to notice and take advantage of it, even with a hurt shoulder. He spun around, and, in one swift movement, grabbed her wrist and twisted the gun out of her hand. The Haitian swept in and scooped it up. Bennet whirled Angela around so that her back was to him. "You don't get to talk about Nathan," she practically spat. "Or Peter, for that matter."
"Fair enough," Bennet agreed amicably enough, pinning her arm behind her back. He did the same to the other one. He forced her to her knees.
She looked up and locked eyes with The Haitian. He just stood there, watching. Waiting. The derringer not even pointed at her, just at his side. Still, there was nothing but hate for him there, in Angela's own eyes. "How could you do this to me?" she hissed in French, the special language she and The Haitian shared. "After all that I've done for you?"
Bennet slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists so that she couldn't touch him. He walked around to face her. He bent to her level so that he could look right into her eyes. She still looked like a socialite to Bennet, even on her knees. "I'm going to bring down The Company," he told her, in perfect French. "And you're going to help me."
Boredom overtook her face. "Oh. That." She looked away. "You're nothing if not predictable, Mr. Bennet."
"Dad, what are you doing?"
Bennet stood. He didn't even have to look to know that was Claire's voice, sweet, yet little raspy, at times with a slight lisp that may or may not be a Texas accent, an odd combination that somehow worked. "Go wait in the car, Claire," he said, his voice still even, his eyes fixed on Angela.
Claire took a step towards him. She saw The Haitian, saw the gun in his hands. She saw the handcuffs on her grandmother's wrists. She looked right at Angela. "Don't take too long."
"So," Angela sniffed. "You've chosen his family over your own."
Claire looked her in the eye. She wasn't afraid of her the way she was last time, not with her dad here to protect her. "I've made my choice." She looked at her dad. "I'll be in the car."
Angela watched her granddaughter walk away. Then her eyes rolled back over to the man she gave her to, all those years ago. The man who was supposed to have turned Claire over the second she started to Manifest. The man who had once been the perfect Company Man, the man who had shot his first partner, his best friend, at the decree of The Company. Now he was a rogue, a traitor. A dead man.
Bennet bent down to her level again. "You're going to tell me where Molly Walker is, and you're going to tell me now."
"She's with Dr. Suresh." She not only looked bored with this entire conversation, she sounded bored. As if Bennet, as if everything, was beneath her.
Bennet stood up. "Thank you, Mrs. Petrelli." He nodded to The Haitian.
The Haitian moved in. He spread out this hand. "I am sorry," he said.
"Just do it, and let me get on with my life," she ordered.
The Haitian put his hand to Angela's forehead.
---
Claire didn't look over as the passenger door opened. She heard her dad slide into the seat beside her, heard him close the door. She wanted to ask him so many things, wanted to ask him what he did with the body. But she knew better than that by now. She put the key in the ignition instead.
"Claire, wait."
Claire killed the engine. She looked over at her dad. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed her a pink cell phone. She took it, with the requisite strange look. "What's this for?"
"I hid one just like it in Nathan's room."
Claire held up her new cell. "Only not pink?"
Bennet couldn't help but smile. "Only not pink."
Claire smiled back.
"They're prepaid, so they're untraceable." As her dad talked, Claire flipped open the phone. She played with the keypad. "That way you can call him whenever you want." She pressed speed dial one, and Nathan's new number popped right up. Bennet leaned in real close. "But only after visiting hours." He gave her a very parental look, his finger up, and waited until he had her full attention before continuing. "Your grandmother can never know about this, Claire."
So she was still alive. Claire was almost disappointed. "She's not my grandmother," she scoffed. She flipped the phone shut with an expert flick of her wrist. It was a movement very like something her dad would make.
Bennet smiled. "That's my girl."
Claire smiled back. "Always."
---
Angela blinked. Something was wrong, something more than just her whole world collapsing. Something... else. She closed her eyes to concentrate. She reached out with her mind, and found that there were gaps in her memory. Which could only mean one thing- The Haitian had been here. "Nathan," she gasped.
---
Distant footsteps echoed. He kept his eyes shut, even as the sound got closer. His mother had left, he was free, so why did she have to come back? Why couldn't she just leave him alone?
The door burst open, nearly exploded- and there was one of those words again, one of those tiny words that possessed so much power. Only this time, he remembered why. He remembered what he had almost done, what he had almost let Pete do. His heart, what was left of it anyway, beat a little faster. Something pounded in his brain, chipping away at the inside of his skull. He tried to take a breath, but the oxygen burned his throat and lungs.
His mother came to his hospital bed, to him. She touched him, his cheek, his forehead, as if to make sure he really was still there. She was the only one who would touch him; even the doctors and the nurses, those who made a living helping people, didn't seem to want to get too close. His mother's touch should have been soothing, comforting, but he found it repulsive.
She was sobbing, something about how she couldn't bear to lose another son. If he cared at all about her anymore, he'd tell her that she already had.
If he cared.
---
Molly Walker brightened the moment she saw him. "Matt!" she exclaimed. She ran to his hospital bed, threw her arms around him.
Mohinder Suresh said something behind her, cautioning her, but if Molly heard him, she pretended not to. Officer Matt Parkman had battled the boogeyman for her, not once, but twice, and won both times. He even had the battle scars to prove it. Molly loved him. She hugged him tight, hugged him tight and didn't let go. Parkman grunted a little as she pressed against his still healing chest.
Mohinder moved forward, gently pried Molly off of Parkman. But Molly didn't let that deter her, she just grinned all the more. "Hey, Matt, guess what?" She pulled a homemade card out of her pocket and practically shoved it at him. "I made you something." She barely let him take the card before chirping, "It's a get well card!"
Parkman opened the card. He was affected, not by the drawing of him in his cop uniform, holding her own stick figure hand, but by the words 'My Hero' in big, block letters at the top of the page. His eyes welled with tears. He never thought he'd be anyone's hero. He was convinced that he was too fat, too stupid, to matter to anyone, even himself. He had learned that from his estranged father all those years ago.
"Get well, Matt!"
Parkman looked up at Molly's face, so bright, so hopeful, so adoring. He smiled through his tears. "This is great, Molly," he said, and his voice trembled the slightest bit. He practically hugged the card to his chest. "Thank you."
Parkman didn't think it was possible, but her smile widened all the more. It practically ate her face. She threw her arms around him again, and this time, he ignored the pain to hug her back. He didn't want to let her go.
Molly finally pulled back, but only to tell Mohinder that she had to go to the bathroom. Mohinder had to help untangle her from the IV stuck in the back of Parkman's hand to let her go.
Parkman barely waited for the bathroom door to close before leaning forward. The pain flared up slightly in his chest, and he cringed. He took a second to let it go back down. "Any news on Sylar?"
"Hiro Nakamura ran a sword through his chest," Mohinder reminded him, matching Parkman's confidential tone with his own. "For all intents and purposes, he should be dead."
"Yeah. But is he?"
"I can hear you, you know," Molly announced from the bathroom, her voice muffled slightly by the door, but still audible. Parkman and Mohinder exchanged a glance as they heard the toilet flush. The door opened, the bathroom light flipped off, and Molly appeared in the doorway. Her face was pale, like she'd seen a ghost. Or her own death. "I know you're talking about the boogeyman."
"We won't let anything happen to you," Mohinder pledged, his sometimes Indian, sometimes American, but mostly British accent soothing to Molly's ears.
"You're safe with us, Molly," Parkman assured her, his own non-accent just as comforting as Mohinder's. "We promise."
Relief washed over Molly. She ran to them, drew her two heroes together in one hug. "I knew you'd never let him hurt me," she told them, tears of joy running down her face. She knew that Mohinder and Parkman would keep her safe. She knew, for the first time in a long time, that she was home.
---
"You really do love Molly, don't you, Parkman?"
Parkman startled, practically jumped out of his skin, and his hospital bed. It was the same deadly calm voice that until quite recently had haunted his dreams, the voice that he had recently formed an alliance with. The voice that belonged to Mr. Bennet.
His former abductor emerged from the shadows, an astonishing feat, considering Parkman didn't even realize his hospital room had shadows until now. The rest of room was sunny, bright even, as the morning sunlight filtered in through the window. It was as if the lights dimmed, just for Bennet. Parkman didn't doubt that they did. Somehow, Bennet had managed to sneak up on a mind reader, which made him all the more dangerous. And The Haitian was nowhere to be seen, so Bennet had managed it all by himself. Parkman didn't know if that was better, or much, much worse.
"Careful," Bennet cautioned, as Parkman cringed from the pain of his sudden movement. Bennet smiled, but it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You'll pop a stitch."
"Where's Claire?" Parkman asked, trying to distract Bennet from whatever it was he came here to do. He knew from experience that Claire was the way to do that, perhaps the only way.
"She's with her mother," Bennet said, in a nonthreatening voice that made him all the more threatening. Something in his manner strongly suggested that Parkman not bring up his daughter again. Parkman didn't have to be a mind reader to know that that would be a very bad idea. He nodded slightly to let Bennet know he understood. He wouldn't be bringing Claire up again.
Bennet looked to the bedside table. Parkman followed his eyes. There were drawings and homemade cards from Molly, a card from Audrey, even flowers from Mohinder, but nothing there from Janice. "How's your wife?"
"I don't know." Parkman glanced down, then looked back up at Bennet. The light reflected off the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. "I haven't heard from her."
Bennet reached into his inside jacket pocket. Parkman almost expected him to pull out a gun. He pulled out a cell phone instead. Parkman gave him a confused look, and, after a small nod of encouragement from Bennet, took it. He tilted his head a bit to get into Bennet's head, but Bennet locked him out with the image of a door. Parkman knocked, but he heard Bennet lock the door. "Call her, Parkman."
Parkman opened his mouth to argue, but a look from Bennet shut him up. He glanced down at his phone, and when he looked up again, Bennet had disappeared. "A card would have been nice!" he called, but there was no response; Bennet was just gone. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. "How does he do that?" Parkman asked the empty room.
---
Mohinder sensed something was wrong the moment he entered his apartment. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his skin prickled. "Molly, get behind me," he said, his voice low, so only she could hear. Molly nodded, frightened, and did as she was told.
Mohinder looked around for a weapon; the best- and closest- thing he could find was a lamp. He picked it up and yanked the cord from the wall. He held the lamp over his shoulder like a baseball bat. "Show yourself!"
There was a definite presence behind him, something much bigger than Molly, something that hadn't been there only a second before. Mohinder spun around, swinging for the fences. Bennet caught the lamp inches from his face. He didn't even flinch. Molly, who only noticed Bennet once Mohinder did, shrieked and fled to the corner.
Bennet easily took the lamp from Mohinder, then cast it aside. The lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses gleamed. Mohinder shifted nervously. He gulped. He glanced at his phone, wondered if he could make it there before Bennet could. "You really don't want to do that," Bennet told Mohinder evenly.
Molly cowered in the corner, her face buried in her knees. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, "Please don't hurt me," she whined. "Please don't hurt me."
The father in Bennet got distracted by the sound of fear in the little girl's voice. Mohinder lunged, but Bennet spun on instinct and caught his fist. He pushed him to the floor with next to no effort. Bennet didn't even break a sweat, even with his hurt shoulder.
Mohinder glared up at Bennet from beneath his mop of black curls. Sweat glistened on his own dark face. "I won't let you hurt her," he panted.
Bennet crouched down in front of Mohinder. He looked right into Mohinder's deep brown eyes so Mohinder would know he wasn't lying. "I'm not going to hurt her, Dr. Suresh. I'm here to help her, her and everyone like her, including my daughter."
"Oh?" Mohinder asked, unconvinced. "And I suppose breaking into my apartment again is some sort of test?"
"Practice," Bennet said, and Mohinder couldn't tell if he was kidding or not, even with the small smile. "It got your attention, didn't it?"
Mohinder nodded, a bit reluctantly. Bennet offered him his hand. Mohinder hesitated, then let Bennet help him up. "What do you want me to do?"
Bennet smiled again. "Good man."
END ACT ONE.