Disclaimer: I still haven't come up with the ridiculous amounts of money it would take to buy the franchise, so, no, I don't own "Heroes" or any of the featured Heroes I might write about ;)
AN: Again, amazing reviews everyone! Reviews are to me what brains are to Sylar! lol. In response to the latest review, yes, I am keeping this -very- canon, as you'll see in this chappie ;)
CHAPTER 4
CLAIRE BENNET
NEW YORK CITY
Claire knocked lightly on the door of the apartment the corner of paper she carried identified as being the apartment of one Peter Petrelli. She stepped back, hearing noise from inside. What if its not him? she pondered, suddenly feeling like running back to the stairwell. What if his girlfriend answers or something? What if it is him and he thinks I'm mental and sends me back to Texas?
The door opened abruptly and an impeccably dressed woman in her late fifties or early sixties stood behind it.
"I'm sorry, I hope I have the right address," she said softly. "I'm looking for Peter Petrelli"
"You picked a terrible time to do that. Peter's not here just now." the woman said, giving her a once over before continuing. "You may as well come inside, Claire."
Claire looked at her, her face radiating confusion as she stepped into the apartment.
"Vous aux maitenant a sur en securite," She said looking fondly, at her before turning to the man behind her. "Mais pas c'est vous."
The Haitian stepped out from the shadows of Peter Petrelli's apartment and began speaking in French to the woman. "Listen, I did everything I could. She would have found her own way eventually."
"Who are you?" Claire asked the woman.
Angela Petrelli smiled at her. "I'm your grandmother, and I've been trying to protect you, but you haven't made that very easy. Quite stubborn, aren't you? Just like your father."
She motioned for Claire to have a seat in the living room and sought out an armchair for herself. "Perhaps I should introduce myself?"
"You're Angela Petrelli," Claire said, quickly remembering the photograph from the article in the New York Journal. "I saw it in the paper."
"Yes. Then you also know that I have two sons - Peter you've already met. The other is Nathan. He's married, now, to a woman named Heidi, and has two other children - your half-brothers, Simon, who is five, and Monty, who is three." she told her granddaughter.
Claire sat, quietly taking in the same information she'd read in the paper. "I'm going to be a problem," she said softly.
"For Nathan at this very moment, yes. Our friend here was to take you out of the country for a while, but that backfired, didn't it? Another friend of ours followed you after you left the airport and let me know where to find you. My sons are being watched, Claire. They're being watched by the agency that your adoptive father works for, the one that our friend worked with until recently. He was in charge of watching Peter, and I highly doubt that anyone will be filling his place right away.
"Peter has been missing for several days. He fell into a coma after he saved you in Texas, Claire. He had a dream that he is the bomb that is going to blow up this city, and then he was out. For two weeks. He woke up, raving, and left the hospital. I haven't seen him since." Angela said.
"Is he all right?" Claire asked "And what are you talking about, a bomb?"
"There is a painter, here in New York - Isaac Mendez. He can paint the future. He painted an apocalypse on the floor of his studio, from what I'm told, and then a painting of an exploding man - Peter claims that after his dream he's the one who blows up, not a bomb, and that the exploding man in the painting is himself." she replied, failing to notice the shocked look on Claire's face.
Claire was taken aback by her grandmother's words, but was reminded suddenly of another incidence involving an exploding man. "There was this man, Ted, he was radioactive! Maybe it was him blowing up in the painting, he blew up my house!"
"That could be, Claire, but it doesn't explain how Ted Sprague is going to get to New York City when he's being held by The Company." Angela told her.
"But how can Peter explode?" she asked.
The Haitian entered the room and sat down across from her. "Peter Petrelli is a... sponge, for powers. He can fly, why? Because his brother can. He can paint the future because Isaac can. He can heal because of you, Claire. He can read minds because of Matt Parkman - the police officer who questioned you after Jackie was killed and the same who took you hostage, the one who shot you. He has many powers. Everyone that he meets who has any of these abilities, he absorbs this. He needs only to meet Ted Sprague to become the bomb."
"Perhaps you should get some rest, Claire. I'm sure you've had a busy day." Angela piped in, standing.
Peter's apartment was meager for someone in such a wealthy family, but it did have two bedrooms. Angela opened the door onto the spare room, and it was quite clear it wasn't used often. There were some boxes piled on top of the bed in the corner of the room, the T.V. wasn't plugged in, and there was a layer of dust over most of the surfaces.
"Peter had a roommate during school who moved out shortly after graduation. I don't think this room has been touched since - Remind me to tell him to clean more often," she said, fussing over the crinkled bedspread. "I hope this is all right."
Claire smiled for the first time since she'd been there. "Its perfect, thanks."
Angela Petrelli crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her granddaughter. "I know this is going to be awkward for a bit, but welcome to the family, Claire."
PETER PETRELLI
"Suresh?" Peter spoke loudly as he banged on the scientist's door. "Suresh?"
He pushed on the ajar door, moving a large pile of debris that blocked it. He entered the apartment and looked around. What happened here?
"It's Peter Petrelli," he announced, staring at a fallen IV stand. "Mohinder?"
Puzzled, he walked further into the space, feeling as though he were walking into a void. It was cold, dark, and ominous. Chairs were overturned, the contents of Mohinder's desk had been strewn about and knocked over, and the little trinkets that had probably belonged to his father, Chandra, lay broken.
He paused near a wall in the kitchen and felt something hit the top of his head. He touched it, reeling as he saw blood on his fingertips. A second later, a drop of blood splashed onto his face. Wiping it away, Peter looked up to see Mohinder Suresh pinned to the ceiling by some invisible force, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Sylar," he said in a whispered warning.
Before Peter knew what was happening, he whirled around to see a man just a bit taller than him, with short hair and an unidentifiable expression on his face.
"I remember you," he said, just before sending Peter flying against the wall, holding him there telekinetically, before grasping his throat with his hand. "You're like me, aren't you?" - he tilted Peter's face from side to side in examination - "I'd like to see how that works."
The man Mohinder had identified as Sylar made a slicing motion with his index finger and blood began to pour down Peter's face, his screams more excruciating than if he'd walked through fire. Sylar smiled in manic glee as a piece of Peter's hair fell to the floor, covered in the man's blood.
Peter's eyes clenched shut and he could feel the wound heal. Sylar let go of his hold on Peter's throat and backed away a bit, before running his finger over the area where he'd just sliced. It had taken a few moments to register, but Peter knew now exactly who this man was - The man who had been trying to kill Claire Bennet, the one who he'd absorbed his telekinesis from. Peter reached out with his powers and could almost feel the connection that Sylar was using to hold him up. He pried at it mentally for a few seconds, just as Sylar began to make another incision...
And then, in one swift movement, Sylar was flown against the other side of the room, landing with a resounding thud, and Peter and Mohinder both fell from the places where he'd kept them pinned.
Peter panted for a second, unbelieving of the situation he found himself in. Sylar glared at him as he pushed himself up from the debris strewn floor, and almost gasped as Peter disappeared into thin air, before causing the injured Mohinder to do the same. He could hear Peter grunt as he hefted Mohinder up onto his feet and make a beeline for the door.
Sylar smiled maliciously and pulled the door shut, locking it. "This is usually the part where people start screaming," he said, his voice giving Peter the idea that this man had grown to like killing.
