The (hopefully slightly less confusing) new version of chapter 3 is here. Chapter 4 will have to wait until September, but this might get redone again depending on what people say about it. Please let me know if it makes sense or not, or just... well... review.
"If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." - Nietzsche
The two of them were running away from Sylar. He was chasing them, Claire and Peter holding hands, managing to stay just out of his sight by dodging into narrow alleyways between apartment blocks. He knew, though, that Sylar was too strong, that he'd catch up. Peter wasn't certain what the red pulsing orb in his arms was, but it was vulnerable and needed protecting.
"Peter… you can't just keep running."
"We've got to. Otherwise he'll catch us," Peter replied, out of breath.
"If you give it to me, I can help protect you!"
He hesitated, as Sylar's footsteps echoed down the alley, then passed it over reluctantly. It felt like he was giving something important up, as the sphere was gently placed in Claire's warm hands and Peter removed his from the precious object –
In Soviet Russia, cheerleader saves you!
Claire Bennet woke up in Peter Petrelli's apartment at approximately 7am.
(This was not due to the fact that they had some kind of sexual relationship.)
She opened her eyes, shut them, opened them again. Looked down, checked herself in the mirror, then smiled slightly.
Bitch, snarled Sylar. Let me out.
Don't even bother asking.
She felt him struggle internally against her, but resisted. After a few seconds, the pressure eased off.
Screw you, he said angrily.
Claire ignored this, as she reached for Peter's mobile phone, picking it up. She flicked through the address book until she hit the number she was looking for, and pressed the call button. She raised the phone to her ear just as someone picked up on the other end. Lucky, huh?
"Hello?" It wasn't Matt, as she'd hoped it would be, but his wife Janice instead.
"I'd like to speak to Matt Parkman, please."
"My husband's at work. Who is this, please?"
"Claire Bennet." This would complicate things. "It's pretty important."
"You want me to leave a message for when he gets back?"
"Tell him that he needs to come to New York as soon as possible with the Hatian. It's Peter. He'll understand."
"Fair enough," Janice said doubtfully. "How do you know him?"
"I met him a few times. He saved my life more than once."
"I'll pass the message on."
"Thanks," she replied.
There was a click as Janice hung up on the other end of the phone. She followed up by tapping in another phone number. This one was rather more familiar to her – the Petrelli household number. It took rather longer for someone to pick up this time.
"Peter?" Angela.
"Angela, it's Claire here. Not Peter."
"You're at his apartment?" She sounded worried.
"Yes. You need to get everyone out of New York."
"Claire, what are you talking about?"
"I know what you did to Nathan."
"I haven't done anything to Nathan." It wasn't a lie, admittedly, but Claire still noted the slight catch in Angela's voice. "Why are you talking to me about your father?"
Claire sighed. "Fine. I know what you did to Sylar."
"He's dead, Claire." This time, she felt her skin tingle. "You know that."
"Don't bother lying to me."
There was a pause. "How did you find out?"
"He hasn't been himself recently." Ha.
"I wanted to keep Nathan. I didn't want to lose your father again…"
"You need to leave New York."
"I can have his memories removed again. Don't you want him alive?" Her voice sounded close to breaking.
"He isn't Nathan, and it'll happen again. Besides which, I doubt Matt will be eager to repeat the experience again." Harsh, but true. And necessary.
There was a pause, then Claire heard the doorbell chime. "Wait."
Silence, then, faintly audible over the telephone, her own voice. "I was visiting Noah at the hospital… they said he should be fine." Oh shit.
"That's good to know," Angela replied calmly, then walked back to the phone. "Who are you?"
"A friend. You're losing your other son, Peter."
"Are you from the future?"
Claire hesitated. "No."
"Angela, who is it?"
"I need to ask you a favour. Get out of New York."
"I can't…"
"Is it Peter?"
"Pass the phone over to her, please," Claire ordered.
"Hello? Who is this?"
She deepened her voice slightly, changing the modulation to Peter's instead of her own. "Peter. You need to get out of New York."
"What?! Why?"
"Sylar's father is coming."
"So you want me to get out of the way?"
Claire sighed. "I… don't want you to get hurt."
"I can't get hurt, remember?" came the bitter reply.
"And if he gets your ability, he won't be able to die. One super-powered serial killer was enough trouble, but another one?"
"Fine. As long as you come with me."
She laughed. "I wish. Work calls… I'm sorry," and hung up.
Done with making phone calls to yourself? Sylar was back again.
Claire ignored this, making herself reasonably acceptable to the rest of the human race before making breakfast.
After cheese toasties, Peter was still showing no signs of surfacing; he still appeared to be unconscious. Either that or he's gone completely, she mused.
Now wouldn't that be a shame?
Shut UP, Sylar. She made her way towards the door after doing the washing up just as the doorbell rang.
Claire opened the door to see Samson Gray.
Ah… a good old family reunion.
He stared at her. "Who are you?"
She gave him her best sunny smile, despite the fact that Sylar (and, as an extension of that, she) knew that the man currently standing in front of her was responsible for several deaths. "Claire Bennet."
Come on. Let me. He's my father, after all, he wheedled.
And he did such a great job of it, she retorted.
Touché.
He hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "I'm Samson Gray." He held out a hand for her to shake, which she ignored. "I was hoping Peter Petrelli might be in?"
He already knows who you are. I'm guessing you're number one or two on his little list, Sylar said unexpectedly.
She shook her head. "Nope, sorry. I'm his niece."
"Ah." He nodded. "I was hoping to meet Peter, actually, since I heard he works at the hospital here. I rather thought he'd be able to help me." Two truths and a lie.
Claire looked concerned. "Are you ill?"
He nodded. "Yes. But you'll be able to help me with that. I must admit, I wasn't expecting to be this fortunate."
I'm taking over from here, Claire.
No. She shuddered as Sylar tried to take over the body. A kitchen knife leapt out from the chopping block as Samson's paralysing whistling washed over her, immobilising Claire.
It was all the opening he'd needed. Samson was flung against the wall by a pulse of energy, hitting it hard with a sickening crack. Looking at him, Sylar could tell his spine was broken. Paralysed, but at least his father's brain was intact.
He smiled. "Hello, Dad."
Samson's eyes widened. How did he –
"Shapeshifting," Sylar said, with a shrug, answering the unspoken question. "It's cute, actually, almost like a family reunion. Except without the drunken aunt."
Please…
Sylar reached out for his father's forehead, neatly removing the top of the skull in a surgical manner that Peter would probably have been quite proud of; clean, straight through the bone, without any damage to the actual brain itself.
Is this what makes you happy? Claire said quietly, as he cleaned up, getting rid of the body as Peter faded gently into consciousness once more.
He didn't reply.
Why are you cleaning up?
Because I like screwing with Peter's mind.
Peter awoke with a jolt. About half a second later, he realised he'd fallen asleep.
What the hell did I do this time? he panicked.
I cleared up my mess this time. Satisfied?
Read: "Oh, my father Samson Gray arrived at your apartment and tried to kill us, so I dealt with him. And when I say 'dealt', I actually mean 'sliced open his skull and looked at his brain' instead." Claire's sarcasm reverberated through Peter's skull.
I did clean up afterwards, though.
Peter stared at the wall. Okay. I can do this…
He focused, as both voices vanished, leaving him in silence. He inhaled again.
Not. Losing. It.
At work in the night, Peter was with Noah again. This time, though, the man was recuperating, no longer critical.
Peter tended to him in silence, all too aware of the way the man's injuries were caused by his hands.
"Nathan? Are you all right?" Angela asked, concerned, climbing the stairs to her eldest son's bedroom. There was a quiet noise coming from upstairs, just about audible to her. Crying, maybe; whatever it was, it wasn't a good sign.
The warning… who was that? she wondered, as she made her progress upstairs. Claire, from the future?
Suddenly, Noah's eyes flickered open, glanced from side to side.
"Peter?"
The soles of her shoes made clicking noises as she stepped on the marble.
Closer now, she was certain that someone was crying. Sy - Nathan, maybe. She needed to talk to Matt Parkman about that; it seemed he was starting to have his other abilities showing through. Unfortunately, all she'd had from Parkman were messages saying, This caller is unavailable. Please dial again later.
"Noah. You're awake." Peter breathed a sigh of relief.
"Where am I?" Noah asked, voice raspy.
"The hospital."
"Water. I need water."
The bedroom was empty, but the noise was louder now, emanating from the attached bathroom.
Angela caught her breath at the shadow visible behind the door, afraid of what might be awaiting her there. She reached to push the door wide open, hoping against hope that it would be Nathan, not Sylar there to greet her eyes.
Peter went to get a glass. When he came back, Noah had pulled himself into an upright sitting position.
"You shouldn't strain yourself," Peter said, passing the glass over.
Noah drank, first taking tentative sips, then larger mouthfuls, setting the empty glass back down on the bedside table, closing his eyes.
"It itches," he muttered.
"That would be the healing process," Peter said quietly.
Noah lifted up a stiff arm. "Nothing actually hurts, though. Did you do something?"
"Not consciously, no."
Noah glanced around for other people. Eventually satisfied that nobody else was around, he said quietly, "I need to tell you something."
The door swung open to reveal the figure of her youngest son hunched up in the foetal position in Nathan's bathroom. Angela stared in shock.
"Peter?"
Peter leaned forwards.
"Angela didn't want me to tell you this, but… you need to know."
"Need to know what?"
"Nathan…" he whispered.
She stepped forwards to embrace him, hugging him tightly.
I'll never lose you…
"You remember that night at Coyote Sands when we burnt Sylar's body?"
He shuddered in her arms.
"He's dead. Isn't he?"
"Yes."
"I'm so sorry…" Angela whispered, eyes hot with unshed tears.
He suddenly became very still in her arms.
-tic-
"That wasn't Sylar. Angela insisted Matt wipe Sylar's memories. Make him think he was your brother."
"You switched – "
"My brother – "
"Me - "
"With a serial killer – "
"And hoped no-one would notice?"
Peter's voice was steady, at the same volume and pitch, betraying no signs of emotion. The electric lights flickered as the glass hummed, vibrating slightly, the only signs of his anger.
"Angela – "
"I didn't want to lose Nathan…"
"So you replaced him with the less important son. The younger one."
"No," Angela whispered.
"The weaker one. The hospice nurse," he spat.
"No, no, no…"
"The worthless son." All the words they'd hurled at him, and blood, so much blood that felt like ice now. He felt cold; nothing she could say would touch him now. "So you had me replaced with a serial killer instead. Wonder if he did any better?" he asked sarcastically.
Much better, thank you.
"Please," she sobbed, and then was silent.
-tic-
Peter stared at the man in front of him.
You should have let him die. Sylar was back.
We don't need your input, bit Claire.
"You let her?"
"I didn't have much choice in the matter," Noah said quietly.
The fluorescent lights overhead burst as the water glass shattered into pieces.
"Peter!" Noah yelled, as the other man vanished in a rush of air. He swore as the glass sliced him, droplets of blood pattering down from thin air as another nurse rushed into the ward.
He let go of her, suddenly realising she was cold. Too cold.
Touching her arm, it was slick with ice.
Horrified, he realised he'd frozen her.
About time you got rid of the bitch, came the whispers in his ear again.
No. No. I swear, I didn't mean it, I didn't want this – He touched her again. Still ice. Frozen solid in place.
Yes. You did.
He stared sightlessly around him, Angela fixed in place like a silent statue.
I don't deserve to live.
He turned around, searching for something. He found a glimmer of silver, the mirror, moved forward unconsciously towards it. Looking in the mirror, he no longer looked like Peter, or Nathan, or Sylar. He wasn't even sure who he was any more; the face in the mirror he saw had components of all three brothers. It was as if somebody had tried to create an amalgamation of all three.
If you don't want to live… I'll take over. I'd quite like my body back.
I won't let that happen.
He clenched his fist. Punched the mirror, once, twice, three times until it finally shattered, the façade breaking around him, leaving his blood on the shards.
His knuckles were split to the bone, but he didn't care any more as Sylar strained to be free again. I can't let that happen.
He reached down towards a large piece of the shattered mirror, flesh and skin already reforming.
I am destroying a monster. Hands traced the plates, searching for the part of the brain with the sweet spot.
You'd die without ever remembering?
I know what I did. He angled it at the base of the skull.
Drove it in.
Hard.
He got there too late.
All the people he'd passed with Daphne's ability were stock still, like marble statues or flies trapped in amber, some of them in unnatural poses that nobody would normally be able to keep up for more than a second. Frozen in time.
It took him less than a second of real time to get back to the house, literally flying up the stairs. Searching for life. Something. Anything…
Ice made a statue of his mother.
Peter stared at the slick ice sculpture, then his eyes shifted downwards to the darker shape at his feet. He could make out the glitter of glass in the back of the skull, buried deeply in the brain. The man's hands were clutched around it.
Sylar, probably, Peter thought. Why would he kill himself?
It's fascinating, really, Sylar said quietly. Turns out you were stronger after all. It broke him.
Him? He isn't you?
He cautiously turned the man over so he could see the face. It wasn't anyone he recognised, exactly, though there were enough similar features for the man to be mistaken as a member of his family. It was… disturbing.
Not directly.
The lil' green button is there. Press it. You know you want to.