HEROES - Volume 6: Brave New World

Chapter 6: What Can you Do?

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters, just playing with Tim Kring's toys.

A/N - show canon; GN semi-canon/references. A couple OCs.


A formerly decommissioned military base.

The ragtag squad marched in exhaustion across the base. A couple glanced over in curiosity to see the medical transport drive past.

West nudged Alex. "Who do you think they grabbed this time?"

"I don't know," West shrugged. "All I do know is I'm gonna kill Claire about six times over first chance I get."

"Can I help?" Alex inquired, dead serious.

"Eyes forward!" Col. Davis ordered as he marched beside the double column. Even he spared a glance at the vehicle. It was obvious they were bringing in another recruit, but he hadn't been informed of it by his commanding officer. He shrugged it off and marched on. The fat man would tell him when he was good and ready, he knew.

What he didn't know was that the "fat man" was watching them from his office window and could sense his sense his aggravation. He turned away and headed down to meet the transport, pulling on his military issue trench coat.

The soldiers pulled the gurney out of the modified ambulance without a care, shaking their captive from his drug induced slumber. He began mumbling to himself, waking up.

"Lucky for you, that man is too groggy to form a coherent thought at the moment," a voice warned them.

The soldiers snapped to attention. "Sir!" the sergeant greeted him. He held out the mission folder to the man.

The commanding officer rolled his eyes and bent over their charge. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder, bent closer and whispered, "Sleep." The soldiers didn't notice the small squeeze he gave their prisoner.

The man on the gurney had been trying to force himself awake after being shaken from the movement until this moment but promptly dozed off again.

"I don't think he knows where he is," the man said to the sergeant. "Has he been awake during transport?"

"No sir. This is the most he's been aware since we took him into custody. We weren't sure if you wished to interrogate him right away or not."

"Good. Follow me," the portly commander ordered, leading them inside the building. He directed them to a holding cell and had them carefully transfer the sleeping man to the cot. "Stand guard while I talk to him," he ordered.

"Sir?" the sergeant questioned. "He's asleep, isn't he?"

The man seemed mildly amused by this. "Do as you're told, soldier," he ordered. The man nodded and locked his superior officer in with their prisoner.

The man checked the restraints, then pulled up the lone chair in the room to the bed. "You can wake up now," he said.

The prisoner seemed to regain consciousness almost immediately. He looked around trying to figure out where he was. "Am I in prison?" he mumbled, still half-asleep. He tried to raise his arms, but couldn't. He tested the strength of his bonds, forcing himself to pull free. He could feel he was strapped down at neck, wrist, and ankle, across his legs and chest, and felt another strap ran underneath his back, which pulled up when he tried to twist his arm. He wasn't going anywhere.

Fractured memories of his earliest encounters with the Company began racing through his drugged mind. He expected to see Bennet and the Haitian.

"No, you're not," the portly man answered him. "You're also not in a Company facility. Technically."

The prisoner looked in the direction of the voice, trying to focus. When he realized who was talking to him, he snapped fully awake. "DAD?" Matt Parkman yelped. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"Calm down, Matty," Maury Parkman cautioned. "I can explain everything."

"No! You're dead!" Matt repeated. "Daphne saw Petrelli snap your neck! She showed me what she saw!"

"Matt? What's the first rule about illusion?" he asked his son.

"What? What are you talking ab-" he started, before realizing what his father was telling him. "You faked it? Why? How?"

"You know how," Maury informed his son, tapping him on the forehead to Matt's annoyance. "By the way, I know what you're thinking and this is all real. The restraints and cell, everything that's happened to you so far, unfortunately. And I am sorry for what has happened, Matty. As soon as I heard you were arrested, I pulled you out," he explained. "As for why I faked my death? That's not any easier to explain. I was never truly working for Arthur, really. There are so many plots within plots going on, you could get lost in them without even trying. Do you have any idea what you disrupted when you and Nathan tracked me down in Philly?" he asked before answering himself. "No, of course not."

Matt glared at his father. "Angela. You're working for Angela, aren't you?"

Maury sighed. "Yes and no, Matty. It's bigger than you-"

"Don't call me that. Not now," he fumed. "You don't have the right."

The elder Parkman nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that was going to happen." He reached over and grabbed his son's hand. "We'll find him, Matt. I swear, to you, if there's one thing I can promise you, I'll find your boy if it's the last thing I ever do."

Matt struggled to pull away. "Let me go," he demanded. "Let me out of here so I can find my son."

Maury shook his head. "I'm sorry, Matt. Not yet." He rose and stood by the door. He glanced back with a somber look on his face. "Trust me, you're safer here."

"Let me out of here, old man!" Matt yelled again. "You fat bastard! Let me out of here!"

Maury gave his son a sad look, then raised his hand toward him. "Sleep."

Matt fought the order, but he could feel his body shutting down once more. "No!" he argued, drifting off. "no..."

The sergeant opened the door for Maury to exit after a mental nudge. He took one last look at his sleeping son before heading back toward his office. "Make sure he's comfortable," he told the man before he left.

When he arrived at his office, he wasn't surprised to see the two people waiting for him. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized. "Last minute detail to take care of."

"That's understandable, sir, with everything going on at the moment," the blonde woman said.

"You're Agent Hanson, am I right?" he asked, taking his seat.

"Yes sir, Audrey Hanson, FBI," she nodded.

"I see you've met Mr. Bahn?" he inquired as he opened the folder he had been handed, earlier.

"Yes sir," she replied, hesitantly. "And may I ask you a question?"

"He already knows, Agent Hanson," Maury informed her, nodding to Lukas. "One of us, one of them. I'm sure they told you that when you were tapped for this assignment?"

"No, I was going to ask, um," she stammered. "The main reason I was tasked to work with you on this was a case I had a few years ago. A man I briefly worked with from the LAPD? He was also a P-?"

"Yes, that was my son," Maury finished as he studied a photo he had pulled from the folder. He glanced up to see her reaction. "Would you like to see a picture of my grandson?" He held it out to her.

"Sir?"

"Matthew, Junior," he said proudly.

She took the photo, unsure what to make of it. She smiled in spite of herself. "He's a cutie," she said, adding to herself, just like daddy.

"Yes, he is," Maury replied with a wink.

She gave him a curious look. She knew Matt could read minds, but could his father?

"Yes," he repeated, as if answering her silent question. "That's also part of the reason you and Mr. Bahn are here. My grandson has been kidnapped and his mother was murdered."

Audrey gasped in shock. "I'm so sorry!" she blurted out, looking at the photo again. "Where's-? Matt has to be beside himself?"

Maury gave a solemn nod. "Matt was arrested by some small town sheriff for the murder of his wife, but that's been taken care of," he told her, waving it off. "Mr. Bahn here can track people, but I need you to take him to the crime scene and help him in any way to find my grandson."

"I understand," she nodded, then asked, "I'm sorry, isn't that a personal conflict of interest, though?"

Maury held her gaze. "Mr. Bahn, would you excuse us a minute?" Lukas nodded and left the room. "Ms. Hanson, I've read your file. You have not read mine. It's buried so deep even the Joint Chiefs aren't fully aware of who we are or what we do. I know what you think of my son and the rest of us, like Sylar. Don't think for a moment I don't," he informed her.

He seemed to consider his next words carefully. "This may seem a conflict of interest to you, but I have it on good authority that what happens to that boy will affect relations between us for decades, if not longer. I promised my son I would find that baby if it was the last thing I ever do." He leaned forward. "Matt will be the first to tell you I was not a good father to him, and he's right. But I will die to make sure he gets the chance to be the father to his son I never could be for him. Do we understand each other?"

Audrey nodded. "Y-yes sir."

"Good. You're dismissed," he told her before turning his attention back to the file on his desk. Sensing the thought before it fully formed, he answered before she had the chance to ask. "Yes he is, and no you can not."

She rose and nodded again. "Understood."

She turned to leave when he called her name. "Audrey?"

"Sir?"

"Please find my boy's baby," he asked in a quiet voice of genuine concern.

She fought a smile. "Yes sir," she answered in a determined voice.

No sooner had she left than the door opened again. Maury glanced up to see who it was, but he already sensed him. Or rather, didn't sense him.

"Hello, Rene. Don't you knock?"

"Mr. Sullivan is waiting to see you," the dark skinned man said.

"Well, look who can speak after all these years!" he chided the man. "Sorry, but I never did understand your vow."

"Penance," Rene replied in his soft, Haitian accent.

Maury returned a grim smirk. "Everybody has some sort of penance, don't they?" he mused, rising from his desk to follow his associate out. "You've kept Sullivan sedated?"

"Of course."

"Then this should be easier than we thought," Parkman said, not looking forward to the task at hand.


New Jersey

"Peter, you can not just bring anyone into this," Noah Bennet chided his young friend.

"I found him at mom's," Peter Petrelli countered. "He was looking for you." He held out the drawing. "Something real bad is going to happen to Matt."

Noah sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I already sent Hiro out looking for you two. He called me earlier and told me Matt was arrested, but his lawyers claim he was taken into federal custody before they could post bail."

"What? When? Where did they take him?"

"I'll tell you what I told Claire and Hiro: last night, by some military goons, and we are not going to rush in and cause Mr. Parkman more trouble by springing him from federal jail. Doing so would not be a very wise move, right now," he informed his friend. "We're still trying to control public perception, and they've already labelled Matt a 'terrorist' and 'murderer', we don't need anyone foolishly busting him out of federal custody, causing more trouble for us and him."

"Terrorist?" Peter sputtered. "Matt?"

"Claire's been glued to CNN, for once, and the police captain who arrested him already bragged he exposed Matt because of the Danko affair and the attempted 'suicide by cop' incident in Odessa when he turned Parkman over to the feds." Bennet looked defeated. "It's not looking good, Peter."

Peter ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Great. Now what do we do?"

"We don't do anything, is that understood?" Noah told him. "I've already warned Claire and Hiro, and now we tell Edgar the same thing so he can tell Tracy and Sylar-"

"Gabriel," Peter corrected.

Noah looked annoyed at the correction. "So Edgar can tell the Carnival folk not to do anything rash or something that would draw attention to them," he explained. "Am I understood?"

"Yeah," Peter begrudgingly agreed. "Speaking of," he nodded behind the other man.

"Bennet?" Edgar inquired. "I overheard what you were saying. If this Parkman is in real trouble, then-"

"If you overheard me, then you know I don't want anyone trying to rescue Mr. Parkman. Am I clear?"

"But Gabriel-"

"-and Miss Strauss are going to follow the same orders," he repeated. "Now, if you would be so kind as to relay that message to them?"

"Right. I don't suppose you have a number I can give to Gabe if he wanted to contact you?" the speedster asked.

"Gabe?" Peter echoed, chuckling. He pulled out a cell phone. "Take this one. We picked it up for Matt, but it looks like he won't need it, will he?" he asked Bennet.

"It doesn't look like it, does it?" he replied coolly, looking at Bennet.

Claire listened in from the other room. She left Hiro to alert them if there was any update on Matt or other Specials. She knew what she had to do and quietly slipped away. Two blocks away, she felt the brief gust of wind, which she knew to be Edgar headed back to Ohio. For a moment, she feared it was Peter looking for her, but he would have doubled back and caught her by now if they had realized she slipped out again. She knew her father would be irate, but she decided she had no other choice.


Tokyo

"Still no word from Hiro or any of our American friends?" Mohinder inquired, bringing his associate a cup of chai tea.

"No," Ando Makahashi replied, frustrated. "The last contact I had was the one saying Rebel was missing, which you received, too."

"Well, they do say no news is good news, right?" the Indian professor chuckled nervously.

"Yes, but you know our friends," Ando reminded him.

"Well then, let's concentrate on something we do know about," Mohinder decided. "How go the plans for your wedding?" he mused.

"Kimiko's handling everything," he informed his friend. "The only thing I have to worry about is making sure her brother and I get there on time."

"Well, there's good news," Mohinder beamed.

"Huh?"

"A time traveler can never be late, especially when it's for his sister's wedding," he smiled.

Ando stared at him in disbelief before they both broke out laughing at the absurdity of their lives.

"Thanks, I needed that!" Ando said after he finally caught his breath.

"I thought as much," Suresh agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to check on Molly and her new friend. Make sure they've done all their homework before bed," he excused himself.

When he arrived at their apartment Hiro and Ando had arranged, he found both young adults glued to the television. "I brought dinner," he announced, setting the red and white striped boxes on the counter. "I hope you like chicken?"

"Mohinder?" came the weepy voice from the other room.

"Molly?" he ran toward the sound of the TV and found the young Indian comforting his foster daughter. He shook his head as she turned to him. "What's wrong?"

"It's Matt!" she cried. "The news is saying he's been arrested for murder and terrorism!" He could barely understand her, but the CNN ticker told him what she couldn't. "I can't even find him, Mohinder! I think he's dead!" she cried.

He hugged her to him. "Shh, it's okay," he cooed. "You're just upset, I'm sure that's why you can't find him," he assured her, stroking her hair. "Now, you said you had trouble finding us when we were taken prisoner, right? What if he's being held in a similar manner? That would make it hard for you to find him, right?" he explained.

She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Mohinder winced and fought the urge to correct her it wasn't very ladylike, but this was the larger matter at hand.

"I guess?" she mumbled.

"Alright then, we can't help him right now, so why don't you go wash your face and we'll eat dinner, okay?" he suggested. "After that, we'll see if we can't try again, okay?"

"Okay," she said and headed for the bathroom.

"She's been like this for hours," Sanjay informed him, nodding toward the various maps and her trusty atlas spread out on the floor.

Mohinder sighed. "We hadn't heard anything at Yamagato, but Ando assured me he would call if he heard anything," he told the young man. "Why don't you go wash up, we'll have dinner, and go from there?" he suggested. "No sense panicking on an empty stomach, at least."

Sanjay nodded and left the room. Mohinder worried about his former roommate as he watched the CNN news report make a mockery of his friend. Had these people no shame? He thought in America, people were innocent until proven guilty? From his brief time there, it had been obvious the media made sure people thought the opposite was true now. Or rather, you were guilty unless proven innocent, but then someone always seemed to have some dirt on you, he realized. Guilty until proven guilty of some lesser crime. There was no more innocence in the world, these days, it seemed.

He dug the remote out of the pile of maps and turned the TV off, then went back into the kitchenette to set out the chicken for the children's dinner. He found his hunger had all but dissipated in the few minutes he had been home.

He made the children say a quick prayer for Matt's safety and for his family, if the news reports were true. Mohinder knew his old friend needed all the support he could get now.


New York City

Claire pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She had traveled all night, and had only stopped to grab a quick bite and wash her face before heading into making history once again. She had expected the morning news show to do their usual 'on the street' report, and was now primed to expose herself once more. She barely took notice of the various signs people held aloft. Most of them were 'shout outs' to tourists' friends and families wherever they had come from. No one seemed to recognize her, which she thought was good, until she made her way to the fenced off area and got a chance to look around, trying to locate the cameras and news anchors.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" she muttered under her breath.

Mixed among the tourist signs, were a handful of signs promoting whatever political agenda, but a few had a familiar face plastered over them: Matt Parkman.

Only a couple were pleading for his innocence, the other dozen or so were demonizing him worse than any politico or a certain self-righteous "church" in Kansas, making him an "easy target" like the diminishing "bad guys" in the Mideast. She realized the tide had turned against them. She knew she was doing the right thing, this time. She had to believe it.

The studio lights shone bright around the crowd, and she couldn't be sure if the stationary cameras were filming or not, but the other cameraman that panned the crowd and did close-up interviews seemed to be looking over this morning's group, seeing who was photogenic enough for the nation to tolerate seeing over their morning coffee. He suddenly jerked to life, one hand over his ear and began panning the crowd again under direction from someone in the studio.

He scanned past her, ignoring her waves and shouts for attention. She realized that's what everyone did just to get on TV. Just another face in the crowd. Except she was a bit more determined than they were. As he began sweeping back towards her, she flipped herself over the flimsy fence. The cameraman stumbled back out of her way when she did and focused on her as she stalked determined towards the jovial weatherman.

She took him by surprise, but he gave a nervous look into the camera and rolled with the intrusion as security ran up to escort her away. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but not just anybody can be on TV this morning," he told her before his face went blank. She knew someone inside had recognized her and was now yelling into his earpiece, if he hadn't.

Now was the time to make her move. "Don't you know who I am?" she asked him. He began stammering as he realized what was going on. She grabbed his microphone and pulled it closer to her, letting him keep his grip on it. "My name is Claire Bennet," she announced. "You may recognize me from my recent news breaking appearances? I'm here to say my friend Matt Parkman is innocent of the charges brought against him!" she declared before shouting, "FREE MATT! FREE MATT!" Luckily, one of the protestors with Matt's face on his sign was near enough she could point toward it.

The weatherman finally managed to wrestle his mike back. "Uh, be that as it may, miss, the courts will have to decide that," he stammered, trying to keep composure. She could practically hear the man's earpiece screaming at him to get her inside or else! She almost had to laugh as he fought to keep a straight face. "Uh, we in the media have been trying to contact you, Miss Bennet. If you'd like, we can step inside and talk to you there?"

"I would like that very much," she agreed.

He instructed security to escort her inside and get her mic'ed up for an interview with his co-hosts as he struggled to finish what he started. "Welcome to live television in New York, folks! You never know what to expect!" he laughed as he segued back to his weather report.

She smiled in satisfaction as she was lead to a make-up table and someone quickly powdered away her sweat, brushed her hair, and hooked her up to the mobile microphone. An assistant quickly asked her what the deal was so the anchors would know what to ask her, other than the obvious questions about Matt Parkman.

Begging for Matt's innocence was only the ice breaker. Claire startled babbling about what she had been through the last few years, from finding out about her abilities to finding her birth parents, and learning about the Company and that the government had tried to "contain the problem" on at least two occasions she knew about before.

Everything went to hell after that.

The fact Matt's namesake was still missing was never mentioned. Two people in particular were glad for that.


Topeka, KS

Dan Walters watched the interview with a heavy heart. He knew his life was over as far as "normal" went. Hell, even normal ended too long ago. He crept down the hall to his daughter's room and looked in on her. She had yet to stir this morning. Even her short existence had been a troubled one.

He and her mother had been high school sweethearts. He told her that he never even thought of other girls like he thought of her. They continued dating after school, since she kept putting off getting married. He knew her parents were behind that, being overly strict and religious. Lord only knows what they thought when she wound up pregnant.

She never told him. The only thing she did say was that her parents were sending her away "for a few weeks" to stay with relatives, possibly looking into a bible college. He had joked that they used that "visiting" excuse in the old days when a young girl was "in a family way". He didn't realize until later that she didn't laugh. It was a year later before he heard she had returned to town, but her parents denied it when he called. He even asked her old girl friends to try and see her, but even the few he knew went to church with her couldn't get a message that he wanted to see her. They had shut him out of her life.

He finally gave up any hope of them getting back together and left town. It was only at their tenth class reunion he reluctantly attended that one of her neighbors had let slip she had been forced to give the child away.

That was how he found out. It was another ten years before she was able to track her father down. He never had a clue where to start looking.

They were slowly trying to build a relationship, but she had been placed into church foster care and given a similar upbringing to her mother. They didn't talk about the other part of his life. He had spoken true to her mother.

It was made worse a few years ago, right after she had tracked him down. He had been anxious about her upcoming visit, when the first seizure hit. When he came to, he thought he was dreaming or having an acid flashback, even though he had never touched the stuff in his life, only the occasional joint. He could swear he was lying on the floor in a giant dollhouse, laying on a baseball field sized sea of white, then two-tone brown cotton. Behind him was a mass of blue denim, and a movie playing on what seemed to be a drive-in movie screen. He ran naked across the expanse, and found himself looking out the giant window into a black sun. When the experience faded, the shift had knocked him cold again, and he had assumed it was all a heart attack and called 911. The fact it looked like he had woken up and his clothes (including his brown plaid shirt) were laying as if he had walked through them instead of taking them off normally didn't even occur to him at the time. He just didn't want to have his long lost daughter find him lying dead of a heart attack when they first met.

The cardiologist told him he apparently had had some recent heart stress, but he was otherwise healthy (especially if he lost a good fifty pounds or more). Basically, it wasn't a heart attack.

The second attack came during her visit a week later. She heard him scream in pain shortly after turning in and found him in his bed. The shock of seeing her long-lost father looking like some living doll had her cursing him as possessed and a demon. Luckily, the stress of seeing her like that shocked him into reverting. The screams of pain shook her out of her conditioning and she stayed by his side until it faded then helped him to the hospital for another "heart attack".

With her help, he had managed to keep these episodes under control, and, as far as he knew, she was the only one who was aware of it. He didn't mention it to his doctor the second (or third or fourth) time despite his daughter's insistence. The doctor had simply called them panic attacks and gave him an anti-anxiety prescription, which helped deter further attacks. She moved in with him under the pretense of "bonding with bio-dad" and was looking at local colleges to stay close to him.

Now, thanks to some spoiled blonde brat, his life was about to turn upside down again. Seeing her and her friends expose the fact there were other people like him out there struggling with "abilities" was a relief to him last week, but now? One was being called "a new kind of terrorist" and wife killer, while she was being put under suspicion.

Dan considered pulling out the shotgun again until the thought of abandoning his daughter once more shook him out of it. She was the only decent thing to happen to him in...forever, it seemed. He called himself the usual litany of names for chickening out. Again. He finally popped another anti-anxiety pill, just in case.

It was the next day, following blondie's morning news appearance, that they came for him and his daughter. He tried to tell them she was innocent, but they ignored him, piling on his 6'2" football built frame, expecting resistance.

Once in custody, they took a blood sample from them both. He snarked they didn't need a needle, just mop up what they spilled from their excessive force. He had a feeling they had orders not to get too rough, as the second in command had to tell a couple of them to walk it off as the others in the squad upended everything they could in his house, looking for something to pin on these "terrorists." It didn't help they confiscated the shotgun his grandfather had left him, his great-grandfather had built it and handed it down to Dan. The loss of that hurt almost as bad as his daughter being called a "terrorist" by these gestapo thugs.

Dan and his daughter locked eyes in understanding as their captors drew their blood. Whatever test they used to find people like him, it was genetic. He began crying. Not for his own predicament, but because his daughter would be cursed with this now, as well. He felt the seizure coming, begging her "protect me" like he was her baby as the pain began to spike.

When he woke, he had returned to full size and was dressed only in a too small orange prison jumpsuit in a cold cell. He tried to sit up and felt a tugging at his chest and heard a monitor beep. Someone had wired him up, he realized, glancing over to the machine. He was surprised to see a pair of socks laying folded on top of slippers next to the heart monitor cart next to the bed. He glanced to the door and saw there was a balding man watching him through the small window as he pulled the socks on his cold feet.

There was no residual pain from returning to full size, so he had no clue how long he had been out. He guessed they had given him a light tranquilizer after shrinking, taking the risk of potentially killing him.

He wished he had his shotgun.


Chicago, IL

Mary Burchett had always been a bit of a tomboy. She was always ready to stir up trouble with the guys instead of dress up and look pretty for them. Mary thought they were pretty, alright, pretty dumb.

It didn't hurt she grew up an army brat. Her father made sure she always knew how to take care of herself if a boy got too rough. She earned her belts in a number of dojos as they moved around growing up. Those lessons would serve her well, now.

She had heard chatter about a growing number of (so far) guys who grew up reading comic books and living in troubled areas with high crime. They had taken matters in their own hands, sometimes dressing up, but always making their presence known when cops and politicians were too corrupt and/or lazy to bother.

Their ranks were about to grow by one more. She had heard there was at least guy doing this here in Chicago, but didn't know who he was or how to contact him. She wasn't interested in a sidekick, anyway.

Between her training and the fact her body was becoming stronger, faster, and, it seemed, denser with every passing day made her feel pretty much invincible. Thinking that "dressing up" was too juvenile (not to mention having heard the comic book people would now sue if you weren't at a comic book convention or paid entertainer or something) she still took the precaution of wearing some light body armor she got fairly cheap online and gloves with reinforced knuckles.

She pulled her blonde hair back in a ponytail and admired her makeshift "costume" (because she knew that's what they would call it if she was arrested for this) of a black sweater pulled over the armor, steel-toed work boots, and jeans. At first glance, she looked like any 20-something girl looking for a party, but whoever tried to take advantage of her would find out quick they were mistaken. She grabbed her brown leather jacket and headed out on patrol.


Ohio

Edgar laid the phone Peter had given him on the table in front of Gabriel. "It was supposed to go to your friend," he informed the former serial killer.

"Matt?" Gabriel asked. "What happened to him?"

"He was arrested for killing his wife and kid, they think," he related. "The wife was drowned, no sign of the kid. Feds already moved in and took him. They're calling him a terrorist, since his cover's been blown as one of us."

"Janice is dead?" Gabriel repeated, stunned. He slumped into a nearby chair. "What about the boy? What happened to his son, Matty?"

Edgar shrugged. "Like I said, no one seems to know, and they're trying to pin her murder on him."

"This is someone you know?" Tracy asked, entering with Emma.

"You could say that," he replied as Edgar signed to the medic what he knew to catch her up.

Gabriel kind of liked Janice, and now felt bad for tricking her that one night. And Baby Matty? What was not to like about that kid? He felt bad for Parkman. Was this the event that sent him on the path to his death? Could he help prevent that? Sure, Matt was a bit of a buffoon, but he always meant well, even when trying to rid himself of Sylar that time in Odessa. He thought he was doing it for the greater good, while all Sylar wanted, Gabriel realized, was to be whole, once more. He later acknowledged, while trapped in that empty city in his mind, once he was whole, was that he, Gabriel Gray aka Sylar, was the one who had been wrong.

Matt was looking out for the greater good, while Sylar only thought of himself. Reclaiming the name of Gabriel was the first step he took to try and atone for what he had done as Sylar. Something that would never have been possible without Matt's influence. He owed Matt, he decided.

"I've got to go," Gabriel announced, rising once more. "Where did you say Noah was?"

Edgar glanced to the women before answering. "I didn't."

"Please, I have to offer my help," he pleaded. "I have to find that boy."

"Bennet told me tell you, specifically, not to get involved," he told the other man. "He doesn't want you making things worse."

"I'll be the judge of that," Gabriel countered and reached for the phone. It disappeared. He looked up at Edgar. "Give me that."

"I don't think so," he said and sped out of the tent.

Gabriel and Tracy ran out after him, but he was long gone.

"Now what are you going to do?" she asked him.

"Since I can't find Noah, I'm going to make my amends to Matt by finding his son," he said and slowly lifted off the ground. "Take care of things, here, for me." As soon as he was clear of the valley, Gabriel Gray flew off to the west with a sonic boom.

"Tracy?" Emma called out. "Could you come in here?"

"What's wrong?" she asked, reentering.

"Here," she said, pushing a small stack of scrap paper to the other woman. The gust of wind almost blown them away.

"Is he gone?" Edgar asked, returning.

"Yeah," Tracy answered, distracted by the doodles Gabriel had been making. "Did you see these?"

"See what? I just got back."

The trio looked at each other in shock. "Give me the phone," Tracy demanded. Edgar was already dialing as he handed it to her.

"Noah? It's Tracy," she told the person on the other end. "Gabriel just left, claiming he was going to find your friend Matt's son...yeah, like we could stop him," she argued. "Listen, that may not even be our biggest problem. These may just be doodles, but you saw the one Edgar gave to you? The ones Gabriel left behind are even worse."

She stared at the one bearing her likeness next to a bearded man. Their profiles were over a number of others, obviously children, and at least one looked familiar: her nephew Micah.


New York City

Angela went over her files again in Arthur's old study, which had become hers after his death. She was looking for some clue to help Noah in his coming fight. Something was going on that she wasn't fully aware of, and she didn't like it.

A knock came at the front door. She had dismissed the maid, sending her away on an "extended vacation" after seeing Claire on the morning news again. She wasn't expecting any other visitors, outside of the small mob that had encamped on her street after Claire and Peter revealed themselves the week previous. She guessed it was another reporter eager to make a name for themselves after Claire's latest news appearance.

She cautiously opened the door, eyeing the blonde woman standing behind the bearded man. She looked suspiciously familiar. "Yes, can I help you?" she asked, surprised anyone had gotten around the crowds and increased private security.

"Mrs. Petrelli?" he asked in a sincere voice.

"Cut the crap, who are you and what do you want?" she demanded.

"Right to the point?" he chuckled. "My name is Reverend Joshua Carpenter, and-"

She whipped out the Glock from behind her back and aimed it in their general direction. She recognized the woman, now. Or, at least, who she potentially was. That was easily cleared up.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Carpenter started to repeat himself, but she cut him off. "Which one are you?" she asked the woman.

"My name is Barbara Carpenter," she replied, forcing a smile. "Surely, ma'am, there is no need for that?"

"Barbara?" Angela repeated, before making the connection. "Zimmerman's daughter?" She held the gun directly at the woman, while keeping the reverend in sight. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right where you stand?"

"There is no need for violence," she suggested.

"I've dealt with your kind," Angela retorted. "I can fend off experienced telepaths the likes you can't even dream of. What are you doing here?"

Rev. Carpenter's smile faded. "We came for the boys."

"My grandsons are not here," she said coolly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said and began to reach for her.

Angela turned the gun on him. "Don't even breathe."

"Our only interest is in seeing the children are safe," Barbara told her.

"You're a liar," Angela countered. "I know which one you are. You were Zimmerman's to keep after all was said and done. The others fostered out, but he kept you, didn't he?"

"Ex-excuse me?" she stammered.

"But you ran away days after you graduated, didn't you?" she continued. "Some boy, wasn't it?" she glanced back to the reverend. "Oh yes, your father kept us up to date on all your activities, as best he could. That was part of the deal. That is, until you ran away and never saw him again."

Barbara acted indignant. "I can visit my father any time I choose," she replied. "How do you know him, anyway?"

Angela smirked. "My dear, without us, you and your sisters would never have existed."

"Sisters?" she sputtered. "Now I know you're lying. I only have a brother."

"He's as dead as your father," Angela informed her. "As is one of your sisters, I'm told. Would you like to know where to find the other one?"


Outside LA County, California

Officer Daniel Bloom returned to the lake house on his squad decommissioned Harley Road King. He wasn't sure why, but he knew his captain was wrong. Matt Parkman didn't kill his wife. Houk never saw Parkman's initial reactions. They were genuine. Bloom knew he had to prove it, and, if they were lucky, find some clue as to where the child went.

He found another vehicle already at the house. He drew his sidearm and approached cautiously. Peering in the window, he saw a blonde woman in a business suit looking at one of the Parkman's photos. A slight bulge under her jacket at her hip meant she was carrying. A nondescript man in a suit entered from a back room and looked right at him.

"I said we have company," Bahn repeated to Audrey.

She turned and drew her pistol, pointing it at Bloom through the window. "Drop your weapon!" she ordered.

"You drop yours!" he countered. "I'm the police!"

She gave him an annoyed look and holstered hers. "FBI. You might as well come in," she told him. He saw a flash of metal on her hip.

Bloom cautiously rounded the house and saw both occupants holding up their credentials as he held up his own wallet badge. Hers confirmed she was Audrey Hanson with the FBI. His said he was Lukas Bahn of- "What agency is that?" he asked, not recognizing the ID other than it was government issue. He recognized the stylized s-shape from somewhere, but couldn't recall exactly where from at the moment.

Lukas snapped it shut. "That's on a need to know basis and you don't," he said gruffly.

"Don't start," Audrey warned him, before turning to the newcomer. "Who are you?"

"Officer Daniel Bloom, ma'am," he replied. "I'm a local who happened to be one of the first responders, here."

Her face brightened. "You talked to Matt?"

"You know Mr. Parkman?" he asked cautiously, her use of his first name caught him off guard.

She nodded. "Yeah, we worked a case together, a couple years back," she explained. "Because of that, I was tapped to investigate what happened here."

Bloom looked to Bahn. "Let me guess, since Capt. Houk started screaming 'terrorist', that's why the feds took him and sent you here?"

He could see her bristle at the accusation. "Yeah," she had to admit.

"But if you worked with Parkman, does that mean you're here to look for evidence to clear him or-?"

"That's what I'm hoping."

Bloom glanced to Bahn, who looked like he was watching a fly buzz the room. "What's your deal?"

Bahn held a finger to his lips. "I know you've been here, before, but-?"

"What? How could you know that?" he asked.

"Did you come alone?" he asked.

"Dude, I'm on my own time and on a Harley, of course I'm alone."

"Someone else is here," Bahn informed them.

All three went for their guns, instinctively.

"Where?" Audrey whispered, not noticing the shadow that fell across the back door, but Bahn spun and aimed at it. The other two followed suit.

The door opened and a tall man stepped in. "Agent Hanson, isn't it? How nice to see you after all this time."

"Sylar!" she accused him and fired three times. Bloom dropped to one knee, partly to dodge her shots, but partly to take him from the side, if he had to. Bahn held his fire, but kept a close aim on the intruder.

Only Bloom was surprised to see the bullets had stopped inches away from the man, who looked vaguely familiar.

"That wasn't very nice, Audrey," he scolded her. The bullets fell to the floor. "I'm actually here to help find Matt's son," he smiled.

She didn't believe him.


TBC...