Two:
Walking down the uniform, poorly lit narrow hall reminds him of all the things he left behind in Japan when he was foolish enough to believe that he knew enough about responsibility to wisely wield his powers. There is a closeted sameness about this location, then again, in the last few years it's become necessary to live underground, in hiding, especially with what Peter has become, so far from the wide-eyed, innocent young man eager to be selfless and save the world.
Hiro Nakamura sighs with regret and shifts his shoulders, finding comfort in the weight of the sword across his back. He pauses at the door at the end of the hall. He can hear voices on the other side of the door, three voices. He slips into the room, and even after three years it's still a shock to see Sylar and know he's on their side now.
Sylar has his head tilted to the side, his dark eyes fixed intensely on Claire, and then he breaks the gaze, looks toward the thin Indian man in the room and shakes his head. "Still nothing, Dr. Suresh," Sylar says.
The Indian man lets out a grunt of dissatisfaction and runs a hand through his dark, curly hair. "All this time and she does nothing more than sleep or stare blankly at the walls. I am almost tempted to remove her feeding tube just to see if it'll get a reaction, but that would be cruel, especially after all the things she's done and been through to help us. How could he have done such a thing? And to her?"
"Mohinder," says a young girl, mostly hidden behind a computer screen. "No one could have known. He was a good man back then. Not even Matt knew what was coming. He couldn't get into Peter's head at the time."
Mohinder sighs and blanches at the mention of Matt, another loss in this undeclared war of survival. "I know Molly, but to see her like this. It isn't right."
Hiro clears his throat to get their attention. They all look up at him like he's just teleported into the room. He let's a small smile pass across his face as he says, "I used the door this time. She's still the same? Maybe not for long. I started this a long time ago, maybe I can finally do some good. Remember the last painting, the one we found hidden in Linderman's secret vault? That hasn't come to pass yet, but maybe now it can."
Mohinder's brown eyes widen, but it's Sylar who speaks. "You've done something haven't you? What if this makes things worse? Haven't you thought about that?" he growls.
Hiro bristles and snaps, "Don't you think I would consider the consequences? Of course I have, but what can be worse than right now? Seeing so many of our friends dead? Seeing Claire like this? Watching Peter become what you were? Something had to be done! I broke a vow I made a long time ago, but I owe it to Ando and all the others to try and make it right!"
"And how can you do that?" Sylar replies sharply.
"By preventing the cheerleader from falling in love with Peter Petrelli," Hiro answers softly.
--
He wakes up with a start, and then gets a look around. Sleeping in airy, abandoned buildings isn't exactly agreeing with him, but getting help from Claude seems like the only shot he has to learn how to control his abilities. He stretches the kinks out of his aching back and sore muscles, and gets a look around the place. It's not all that inviting but it's better than crashing on a random roof next to a pigeon coop like the other night.
Bits and pieces of his dream slowly come back to him, and then his eyes widen as he realizes that Claire is in the city. That isn't right though. She should be home in Texas, not out here in New York, and why would she come all this way to find Isaac Mendez?
He quickly gets to his feet, looks around, but seeing no sign of Claude he decides that he should pay Isaac a little visit. As he makes himself invisible and approaches the boarded up window that leads to the fire escape he thinks about the painter, and then he thinks about Simone and seeing her and Isaac on the roof a few days ago. Clearly things aren't as over between them as he thought. He has to admit that he's still a little sore on that topic as he slips through the boards and then leaps from the fire escape, a destination in mind as he flies through the hazy New York sky.
--
With a sleepy moan Claire begins to stretch and wake up. It doesn't take her long to realize that she's not in Odessa, Texas. For one thing she's in a strange bed, and for another there's the sounds of pans banging, a man cursing, and the smell of something burning coming from the other side of the bedroom door that has a chair pushed up against the doorknob.
She gets up, takes a look around the small bedroom, remembering where she is, New York of all places, with a man she's supposed to save and only met last night. She removes the chair from the door, steps out into the small hallway, and walks toward the smell and the cursing. She shakes her head at the sight, fighting away a giggle fit as she watches Isaac scraping at a smoking frying pan with what might have been classified as eggs before it was burned into charcoal.
"Shit," he hisses at the pan as he snatches it up, tosses it in the sink and runs cold water over it.
Claire can't stand it anymore as rich laughter bubbles out of her, and Isaac turns to her, an exasperated look on his face before a grin tugs at his mouth and he says, "What? So you think this is funny, huh?"
"Yeah, and obviously you don't cook that often do you?" she says around a giggle.
"How could you tell?" he grumbles.
She shrugs. "What's the occasion?"
"It's not every day that I have a guest," he replies.
"Guests are usually invited. It's not like you were expecting me or anything…" Claire pauses at the look on Isaac's face and nods. "Right so maybe you did expect me."
"I'm just glad you came before Sylar showed up. I'm pretty sure it's not going to be pretty," he says with a grimace.
"And I'm pretty sure it's not going to happen," Claire snaps back, her hazel eyes flashing, and Isaac can't bring himself to disagree with her, as she continues, "Now how about you get out of the way and let me fix us some breakfast, and where did this all come from anyway? Last I checked you only had Kool-Aid and leftover Chinese in you fridge."
"There's a little place around the corner."
Claire scrunches her nose as she cleans the pan and says, "Really? And what time is it? How long have you been up?"
"It's about eight thirty now. I've been up for a few hours. Couldn't really sleep much last night. I had to paint."
"Anything new?" she asks, and raises a brow at the flushed look on his face.
"You could say that," he replies and runs a hand through his hair nervously.
She rinses out the pan and then runs the dishcloth around it to dry it and says, "So when do I get to see it?"
"You don't," he answers quickly, a little too quickly.
"Why not?" she asks.
"You just don't, okay? Drop it Claire," he growls, and Claire can sense a little bit of his temper behind his tone, she'll let it go for now, but she's got a temper too and she's never been afraid to use it.
She sighs as he heads toward the area of the loft that he uses as a studio while she begins to cook breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, breakfast of champions.
--
He's careful to stay invisible as he lands in front of Isaac Mendez's door. He uses the telekinesis he picked up from Sylar to take care of the lock on the door and then he slips inside the loft. He can smell someone cooking breakfast, along with the strong scents of acrylic and oil paints and turpentine. His nose wrinkles at the combination and then he heads towards the side of the loft where Isaac works.
He sees Isaac, with a palette and brush in hand, facing a blank canvas, and he watches as Isaac's eyes film over white. In a flurry of motions Isaac's brush is sweeping across the canvas in bright blues, reds, yellows, black, then comes the flesh tones.
Peter nearly jumps at the sound of a familiar voice coming from the kitchen, "Isaac, breakfast is ready."
He expected Simone maybe, but not her. She's supposed to be in Texas, and that dream he had wasn't supposed to be real. It's then that he turns back to face Isaac as the painter blinks, his eyes returning to their normal color, and together they scrutinize the painting. Peter's eyes widen in shock as he realizes who the people in the painting are, and then Isaac covers it.
Peter follows Isaac into the kitchen where Claire is dividing up eggs and bacon on two plates on the counter and there's a pitcher of Kool-Aid set out next to two glasses. He watches as Isaac slips past Claire to get cleaned up at the sink. She lifts a brow at the artist and says, "Is painting always that messy?"
Isaac just shrugs and says, "Yeah, but the result is always worth it."
Claire rolls her eyes and then walks toward him, grabs a dishcloth from the sink, lifts it to his face and begins wiping at a streak of blue. Peter clenches his teeth to keep from saying anything as he watches both Isaac and Claire's stunned reactions to what she's doing.
Isaac clears his throat nervously and then says, "Right, breakfast. Smells good."
The whole scene is so domestic that Peter feels something twist in his gut, and he can't take it anymore, and that's when he loses his concentration and becomes visible in Isaac Mendez's kitchenette, with Claire and Isaac right there.
"Peter?" Claire says, and Peter turns to her, drawn by her voice, but then Isaac cuts in. "What the hell are you doing here Petrelli?"
Peter shifts his gaze to Isaac and snaps, "I had a dream about Claire, and I needed to know if it was true. I guess it is since she's here in New York, but she's not staying here with you!"
"Do I get a say in this at all?" Claire asks, her tone sharp.
"What are you even doing here? Why are you with Ihim/I? He's dangerous! He's a junkie and up until about a week ago he was missing for a couple of weeks!" Peter says.
"I was getting clean!" Isaac growls. "Now I can paint without the drugs."
"Yeah, and I've seen exactly what you paint too, you bastard! She's a kid!" Peter snarls and then he launches himself at Isaac, catching the painter in the stomach and toppling them to the floor.
Isaac tries to shove Peter away, but Peter's fist flies at his jaw. He takes the hit and then scrambles out from beneath the man. He gets to the cabinet where his paints are kept, snatches it open and sees the gun resting on top of the can of turpentine. He's tempted to reach for it, because Peter has taken everything from him that matters, not to mention the fact that the man is literally a walking time bomb. Still he remembers the painting he'd burned of Simone dead on the floor of his loft, and there's also the fact that Claire is here, and he really can't have her getting hurt.
He closes the cabinet and then he's yanked across the room by some strange force. He's held against a wall as Peter slowly approaches him, malice in his eyes, something hard and cold slipping up from the dark depths of those eyes, and Isaac feels fear coiling in his gut.
"Peter! Please stop, just stop! I came to New York to find Isaac! I had to find him to save you! Please, don't hurt him!" Claire shouts, and Isaac can tell when Peter's concentration slips as the force holding him against the wall dissolves and he slips to the floor, landing awkwardly to his knees.
"How would you even know about him?" Peter asks.
Isaac takes in a breath and says, "Looks like our friend Hiro has been messing with the timeline again."
"Why would he do that?" Peter asks, all the wind seemingly knocked out of him, and he jerks his head to get his bangs out of his eyes. "How can you finding Isaac save me? And what about your family, Claire? How could you just up and leave?"
Claire looks down at the floor, moisture shining in her eyes as she says, "It was all a lie. He wanted to take away my memories, wanted me to forget that you saved me Peter. I couldn't let him."
"The Haitian," Isaac says in response and Claire raises her head to look at him and asks, "How do you know about him?"
"Claire, your father, he… He sent someone to find me and they got me cleaned up. He used me to try and find a way to protect you from Sylar, and after they caught Sylar I left."
"You know my father? You could tell him where I am. He could come for me," she says, her voice choking with panic, and just like that Peter goes to her side.
Isaac makes his way toward her as Peter puts an arm across her shoulders, and Isaac can't let Peter win this time, not after he's gotten a glimpse of a future that could be.
"Claire," Isaac pleads. "I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't hand you over to your father. Hiro told you to find me for a reason. He needed you to save me. Have a little faith in a guy from the future. Have a little a faith in me, please."
Claire looks up at Isaac and sees something in his eyes, but before she can answer, the door of Isaac's loft opens and a woman steps inside. They all turn to look at her, Peter's arm still around Claire's shoulder, and Isaac standing before her and the woman looks at them and then her gaze falls to Peter and she says, "Peter? Where have you been? What's going on?"
"Simone," Peter says, his voice choked, and then he takes in a sharp breath and says, "I saw you on the roof with Isaac. I've seen a lot of things lately. Why would you go to him?"
"I was looking for you, and who is she?" she asks.
Isaac pulls Claire away from Peter, unsure of how much has changed because of Claire's arrival and him leaving the gun in his cabinet. Peter gets to his feet and crosses the room to go to Simone, as Isaac answers her question. "This is Claire. She's the cheerleader from Odessa. Peter saved her life."
"And what is she doing here?" Simone continues.
Peter looks from Simone to Isaac and Claire and answers, "That's why I'm here. I saw her here with him and I had to know why, and then I saw him painting, and I think I know now."
Simone's gaze darts to Isaac and the young girl, she sees how Isaac has managed to slip in front of the girl, almost like he's shielding her, and she thinks that maybe she doesn't have to see the painting to know what Peter's talking about. Isaac has moved on, even if he hasn't realized it yet. Something twists in her stomach as she turns her gaze to Peter and realizes that he too holds some kind of affection for this girl, and then she whispers, "Save the cheerleader, save the world. Is that what this about?"
"Simone," Peter whispers as he reaches out to touch her cheek.
She pulls away from him. "No. You can come out of hiding, or wherever it was that you've been doing, for her and to confront Isaac, but you would have me worry all this time without hearing anything from you? You just disappeared Peter! How could you do that? Do you know how scared I've been for you?"
"Scared enough to go to your ex?" Peter accuses.
"It was never like that Petrelli, even when I wanted it to be."
Suddenly Peter doubles over, gripping his head in pain. He looks around wildly before he shakily gets to his feet, pushing past Simone he vanishes into thin air before their eyes, the door of Isaac's loft slamming in his wake. It doesn't take long for Simone to follow Peter's lead, leaving Isaac alone with Claire.
He turns around to look at her, and he sees a look on her face, like she's trying to take in everything she's just seen and make some kind of sense of it. "So Peter is seeing your ex, and you did some kind of painting of me that has Peter freaking out all over the place. Is that the painting you did last night that you don't want me to see?"
Isaac runs his hand through his hair and wonders how he's going to get out of this unscathed without Claire seeing the painting or her father finding her here and seeing that painting. It's bad enough that the sainted Peter Petrelli has seen it.
--
Hiro sighs as he finds himself in the room next to Claire's, the room they use to store some of the artifacts and paintings they've recovered from Linderman's collection. There is a painting on an easel; it's covered with a sheet. There aren't many people who've seen this particular Mendez piece. He knows Linderman's seen it, but beyond Linderman, the artist and himself, he has no idea.
He pulls the sheet back and looks at the painting with a small smile. It's a beautiful piece, the moonlight slipping in through a window, the curtains pulled back, and a couple in a bed, peacefully entwined in sleep, the woman's blonde hair splayed across the man's chest, his dark hair falling into his face, smudges of different colors along his arms and hers. A painter and his lover, that is the title of the painting, and Hiro thinks maybe if this painting comes true then there is hope for Peter, because Peter is not meant to be with his brother's daughter. That is what destroys his sense of morality. Hiro would rather see his old friend hurt than destroyed. Pain is something one can recover from, but being destroyed? There's no hope in coming back from that.
He turns at the sound of the door opening behind him, and sees Sylar. Sylar looks beyond him to the painting, and his eyes widen. "So this is what you meant about the painting. But I killed him."
Hiro's lips turn up in a small smile, reminiscent of the young man he used to be, the young man from over six years ago. "Yes, you did, but do you doubt Claire's ability to save him?"
"I don't know. She doesn't seem like much considering she's in a waking coma at the moment."
"She wasn't always like that. It wasn't until Peter changed, and then he took her. He kept her for a year and when she came back her body was so broken it actually took her days to heal. Remember all the bones that had to be broken again just so she could heal properly?" Hiro replies, sadness weighing heavy in his voice.
"I was the one that found her, and it turned Imy/I stomach to see what he did to her. What he did to the baby…" Sylar trails, a shudder running up his spine.
Hiro gives a small nod, and whispers, "Save the painter, save the cheerleader, save the world."
--
It's been a week since he opened the door to face a soaking wet Claire Bennet standing at his door. A whole week of her living with him, and it's strange how natural and easy it seems, having her around. Maybe easy isn't the right word. They've had a few arguments, mostly over the painting he still refuses to show her, and that one spectacular fight they had after Isaac answered his phone only to realize that he was speaking to Noah Bennet who was asking after any paintings revolving around Claire and Peter.
He's managed to delay the inevitable confrontation with Noah Bennet, but he doesn't know for how long. He's got a back-up plan. He's made a few calls, managed to get one of his former dealers to hook him up with a former cop whose new specialty is creating identities for people. He's prepared for the worst if it comes to that. He even has a small fortune to fall back on and start over if he needs to, thanks to his hugest fan Daniel Linderman.
He groans as he rolls over in the futon. It looks like another sleepless night ahead. He blinks and as his eyelids open his vision floods with white. He soon finds himself locked in the back recesses of his mind as his ability takes over. He can feel his body moving, squeezing paints from tubes, setting up a canvas, grabbing a brush, the long fluid movements of his arm as the brush tenderly caresses his canvas.
He isn't sure how long his cognitive state lasts, but eventually he blinks, his eyes going back to their natural brown, and then they widen as he stares at the painting. It's his loft, the door wide open and standing in the doorway is the imposing figure of Noah Bennet and his friend the Haitian. Isaac swallows, unsure of how much time he has left. He feels the need to hurry.
He runs down the hall, throws open the door of what used to be his bedroom. He watches Claire startle awake and she looks up at him with scared hazel eyes as she says, "Isaac? What is it?"
"I need you to pack quickly, just essentials. I have a few calls to make and then we have to leave, okay? Hurry Claire. I don't think we have much time," he replies.
"Why?" she asks.
"It's your father. He's coming Claire."
She needs no further prompting as she tears out of the bed, gets dressed, and grabs her backpack. She loads its up with the clothes she brought from Texas as well as a few of the things she's brought since coming to New York, as well as that old Ramones t-shirt and gray sweats Isaac had loaned her on her first night in New York. She heads over to his closet, sees an old duffel bag tossed in the back and she quickly packs a few things in there for him, shirts, jeans, underwear.
She hurries out of the bedroom with her backpack slung over her shoulder and Isaac's duffel in hand. He looks up from the phone and gives her a nod of acknowledgement as he grabs a messenger back slung across one of his kitchen chairs and stuffs his sketchbook, some pencils and oil pastels in it. He finishes up his call, hangs up the phone and says, "We're all set. I just called a cab and then we're going straight to the airport, I've already managed to secure a flight on the red eye."
"And where exactly are we going?" Claire asks nervously.
"California, and if anyone asks you're Claire Benton, and I'm Isaac Cabrera, and you are my goddaughter. We're going into hiding, one of my buyers has a few connections and we're all set. How does a condo in California sound? And you can even start going to school again. It's all taken care of," Isaac says, and he has this strange sinking feeling as he watches the changes on Claire's face.
Still, she surprises him with her answer, "If you're not here Sylar won't get you, and I'm not ready to face my dad. Okay, we'll go to California, but before we go, show me that painting."
He sucks in a sharp breath. "Claire, please, lets just go. We've got to hurry."
"No," she answers firmly. "I want to know what made Peter act the way he did. I want to know why you get so tense every time I mention it. I want to have a reason for going to California with you."
He closes his eyes against her searching look, and when he opens them again he sees her backpack and his duffel on the floor and she's standing in front of the covered painting. She reaches out, grabs the sheet that covers it just as he whispers, "Please don't."
She yanks back the sheet and he can feel something hollow out in his stomach as he awaits her reaction. He can't take his eyes off of her as her hazel eyes widen and she tilts her head, her mouth falling open a little, and then she shifts her gaze back to him, a look of wonder on her face as she says, "This is me and you, right?"
He closes his eyes and nods in defeat. "Yeah, but I… It was my ability. I didn't know what I was painting until it was finished. Claire…" he isn't quite sure of how to finish.
She shakes her head. "This doesn't change things. The future isn't set in stone. So how about we get out of here before my dad storms the place looking for me?"
"Sounds like a plan. The taxi should be here by now," he replies as he shoulders his messenger bag, picks up his duffel, and watches as Claire carefully pulls the cover back over the painting, walks across the room, grabs up her backpack and then they head out of the loft. Isaac locks up behind them, and they head downstairs where their cab is waiting. As they get into the cab a shiver slips up both of their spines as they realize that they are different now, and this big move changes everything.
--
Things have been a little hectic for Noah Bennet for the last week, to say the least. There is a raging, psychopathic serial killer on the loose who's made an attempt on his daughter's life, his daughter has gone missing, Peter Petrelli is missing, and he's just received a tip from Angela Petrelli that his missing daughter is in fact in New York. He takes his glasses, cleans them with a lens wipe, replaces them back on the bridge of his nose, pays the cab fair and then he and his friend the Haitian get out of the cab at 215 Reed Street in Manhattan.
Noah sighs as he gives a pointed look at the Haitian, "We wouldn't be here right now if you'd only done as I asked."
The Haitian doesn't seem phased at all by Noah's accusation. Noah shakes his head as they walk into the building, up the stairs and find themselves standing at the door of Isaac's loft. There has got to be a reason why Isaac has been so sketchy. Maybe he knows where Claire and Peter are and he's just afraid to share the information.
Noah doesn't waste any time knocking; he just gives the Haitian a look. The dark skinned man breaks the door down, and the two enter the loft. It's been empty for days, it just has that cold, abandoned feeling to it. Noah narrows his eyes as he glances at the Haitian then he steps further into the loft. He makes a quick survey of the room, taking in the new paintings, and notices the painting of Isaac's death. He lets out a "huh", and then he comes to a covered painting. He raises a brow, yanks back the sheet, and then his blue eyes widen behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He swallows thickly, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and as he lowers his hands he clenches them into fists.
Something tells him that his little girl isn't in New York anymore.