A/N: Thanks for the review, Rose! It's nice to have a word of encouragement now and again!
Chapter 8- A Hard Lesson
Age: 14
Jenna looked into the mirror and carefully applied the black eyeliner to the edges of her lids so as not to smear it. She liked the way the darkness made her deep brown eyes look more…menacing? Whatever it was, her dorky dad didn't like it but he didn't understand what was cool anyway. If it wasn't featured in a Sharper Image catalog or in Popular Mechanics, he didn't get it. He didn't seem to like much about her these days, and she in turn was starting not to care for him much either. It seemed he was always on her about the clothes she wore, angry because she pierced her nose without asking him, or lecturing her about her falling grades or waiting by the door to see if she was going to be even one minute late for her curfew. Her old man was a real drag and she was starting to think that there was more wrong with him than just being a clueless dick.
She never really noticed it, but her best friend Paige did. "Jenna, what's up with your dad?" She asked as she painted her toenails a bright shade of red one rainy Saturday. "I mean, something's seriously weird with him."
"He's just a douche." Jenna shrugged as she collapsed on her bed next to her friend. "No mystery there."
Paige laughed, but persisted. "No, seriously. I remember coming over here when we were like 10 for your sleepover. He looks exactly the same. Isn't that just a little strange? I mean, my dad is looking older than I remember him."
Jenna scrunched up her face in exasperation. "How the hell should I know? Maybe he uses some kind of skin product or something. I don't really get off on looking at him the way you do." She was well aware that her friends had crushes on her dad and it disgusted her. What made it even worse was that he seemed to know about it. She could tell by the way he patiently smiled as he rolled his eyes when they stared too long or giggled too much.
But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The only thing she had to go on was a single photograph she had in her drawer that Brianna's mother took at their first soccer game seven years ago. The picture was meant to capture the two in action, but in the background was Peter and her father. Peter's face was mostly obscured because he had his hands cupped around his mouth, no doubt shouting encouragement, but her father's face was very clear: he stared onto the field with an intense expression although even she could tell that he wasn't very interested in the game. Paige was right- the only thing that had changed in all that time was his clothing. There were never any photographs of him in the house, so the only thing she had to go on was her memory, but she never recalled him looking any other way. Come to think of it, neither did Peter.
And then there was the scar. She had never seen her father without his shirt on, but a minor cooking accident changed that. He was being a control freak, as usual, making her do her homework at the kitchen table where he could supervise her while he made pasta for dinner with classical music playing in the background. He once told her something about it activating the frontal lobes or something, but she just took it as further evidence that he was a supreme geek. She didn't get why he couldn't just buy pasta sauce in a jar like everyone else, but he refused and insisted he make it from scratch even though it took him twice as long. "Need any help?" He asked, glancing between his pot and her.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "No." She droned as though he just asked a profoundly stupid question. She had been staring at the same math problem for the past 10 minutes and she did in fact need help, but she wasn't going to admit it. Then he did the thing that usually unsettled her: his facial muscles twitched like he had a scratch he couldn't itch. It was almost as if he knew she was lying and it always made her nervous.
"I can help you if you want me to." He gently suggested- almost begging her to let him. He might not have gone to college, but he had always aced his classes without really trying. Of all his subjects, math was his favorite and he was quite good at it. It came in handy for watchmaking and he supposed it would have for analyzing stocks, if he really did such a thing for a living.
"I don't want you to." She reminded him petulantly. She wanted to tell him to stick to pot stirring, but that seemed like inviting trouble. She had learned from experience that he would only tolerate so much insolence and he wouldn't hesitate to ground her for getting out of line. She bit her lip and smiled when he couldn't even successfully master pot stirring and the sauce bubbled up and splashed onto the white DKNY shirt she bought him for Christmas the previous year. He growled in frustration and moved the pot to the back burner to cool while he scrubbed the stain at the sink. "It's ruined now," she mocked, "might as well throw it away." She knew that despite the tension between them, he loved the shirt if only because it was a gift from her.
"It's not ruined." He doggedly scrubbed. "But I do need to wash it right away." He abruptly turned and made a beeline for the washer, slipping it over his head in transit. Even though she'd never seen him without a shirt, it wasn't really shocking since she'd seen many a bare chested man in advertisements for everything from cologne to lip balm. But what did surprise her was the fact that he seemed in fairly good shape despite never really going to a gym, and the brief flash of a good sized, noticeable scar just to the left of his sternum and a matching one a little higher on his back. When she questioned him on the origin, he stammered briefly, clearly uncomfortable with the question, and finally just vaguely told her that it happened a long time ago. She could only imagine it was something fairly gruesome. Maybe he was impaled by a tree branch in a car accident, or maybe he had some weird surgery where doctors replaced his heart with that of a baboon.
She sighed and ran her fingers through her dark hair. She recently cut it off into a short, shaggy mop that she sometimes styled into a pixie if she felt like it, but mostly she just left it as it was- no matter what it looked like. Some of her friends teased her that her hairstyle looked like her dad's, but it wasn't true. He spent way more time styling his than she did, but on the occasions she did feel like doing something with it, it was handy to sneak into her dad's bathroom and borrow his products even if he asked her repeatedly not to. She froze at the sharp knock at the door and glanced down at the black jar of styling paste resting on her desk in panic. She snuck into his room the night before while he was at the store and she forgot to put it back. Shit.
"Jenna." Gabriel patiently called from the other side. "Open the door." There was no lock on her door, but he tried to respect her privacy by allowing her to open it. There wasn't a lock on his door either, but he was seriously considering it. This was the umpteenth time she had pilfered something of his and the intrusions were becoming annoying. It seemed his predictions of her becoming a kleptomaniac were coming true. Today it was hair gel, but tomorrow it might be his credit card and he had to put a stop to it.
The door quickly opened and the missing item was thrust at him through the crack. "Sorry." She hurriedly apologized before she tried to slam it shut again.
He, however, was faster and managed to wedge the toe of his shoe in the door before she could close it. "Jenna," he calmly warned in his 'I'm incredibly pissed, but I will control it no matter what' tone, "open it. We're going to talk about this."
"Dad, I…"
"Open the door." He commanded. "Now." If she wouldn't oblige him, he could do it himself with the flick of his wrist…
She knew she was out of options. He was angry and he didn't get angry often. And when he was angry, it usually meant that there would be consequences. Defeated, she let the door swing open and she plopped down on her bed, shoulders slumped while he stood in the doorway like a vengeful god. Just past him, she could see Peter pacing nervously in the living room and rubbing the back of his neck, no doubt reluctant to be present during a family conflict. The fire in her father's eyes made her tremble inwardly with fear- there was just something about his wrath that gave her the chills, but he took a deep breath and blinked slowly until he was calm enough to deal appropriately with the situation. Even though his brooding made her fearful, she never could say that he ever truly went off on her when he was like that. It was bad enough enduring his lectures, she couldn't imagine what the darker side of him could do.
He pulled out her desk chair and sat opposite from her with a disappointed look on his face that was almost as bad to her as his angry face. "Jenna," he quietly said as he held up the item in question, "I thought we had an understanding about you taking things out of my room."
There was a sad quality to his voice that made her feel simply awful. "I know," she whined miserably, "but I was going to fix my hair and…"
He smiled lightly and his warm chocolate eyes softened. "I understand, but my room is my private space just as your room is your private space. If you run out of something, all you have to do is tell me and I'll buy more for you the next time I go to the store. In the meantime, I expect you to ask me if you can borrow something. That's all I ask, ok?" He reached out and gently patted her knee to let her know that he wasn't angry with her, but he did need to set firm ground rules. "But," he sighed as he slid the top drawer of her desk open to drop in the container, "you can keep…" He stopped in mid sentence when he spotted a plastic baggie in the corner of her drawer. "What's this?" He asked in a carefully measured tone, holding up the small bag full of white pills.
She felt as though she were going to vomit as she went pale. His sharp eyes were boring holes into her with a mix of shock and anger and she stuttered, "It's….ca..it's candy." It was the only thing she could think of that made sense. She certainly couldn't tell him the truth.
The back of his head tingled and his anger flared at being lied to about something so important. But rather than castigate her, he thought he would teach her a very valuable lesson instead. He let his anger subside and he slowly forced himself to smile nonchalantly. "Candy?" He asked surprised. "I like candy. What kind is it?" He untied the bag and looked to his daughter with a pleasantly curious expression.
"You wouldn't like it." She replied nervously, reaching out to take the bag from him.
"I could try one." He shrugged, popping one of the tablets into his mouth and biting down. "Hey Peter," he called to his unwitting accomplice, "want some candy?"
Peter came to the door and immediately assessed the situation. "No thanks," he declined as he tilted his head to read Gabriel's thoughts, "I just brushed before I came."
"Hmmm," Gabriel frowned as he looked into the bag, "kind of tastes funny. Bitter and a little chalky. Where do you buy this stuff?"
"I knew you wouldn't like it." She didn't really know what it was, but she knew that it was bad. Paige had left the bag there the last time she came over to hold for her.
She made another attempt to gain possession of the bag, but Gabriel deftly dodged her swipe by standing up and walking towards Peter while he ate a handful of the pills. "They don't taste all that great, but the crunching sound is kind of addictive."
Peter watched him chew with a skeptical expression. "You're mouth's all foamy." He observed in a worried tone. "You feel ok?"
Gabriel took his cue in the impromptu play and he lightly placed his hand over his stomach and grimaced. "No, not really." He admitted. "I feel a little sick."
Peter placed his hands on Gabriel's shoulders and looked him in the eye to treat him just as he would any other overdose patient. "Do you feel dizzy?" He asked in a compassionate, yet serious tone while he used his thumb to peel back one of Gabriel's eyelids to check his pupils. "Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"
Gabriel bent over and started breathing heavily. "Maybe." He panted. "I feel numb. What's happening to me?" He asked, appearing to be disoriented.
Peter hustled him to the bathroom. "I don't know, but maybe you'll feel better if you can get rid of it. See if you can gag yourself and make it come up."
Once behind the bathroom door, Gabriel gave Peter a grateful nod for his performance. "Do you think you can get me to the hospital?" He asked between making retching sounds and pouring water into the toilet to make it sound like he was vomiting violently.
Peter smiled at his creativity as he admired the realistic sound effects. "Is this what you did your first night at Maria's?" He laughed.
Gabriel looked at him dully. "No. That was the real thing, unfortunately."
He shrugged in concession and answered, "Yeah, I can get you to the hospital. Pretend we have to rescue you, but do you really want to scare her like that?"
Gabriel's eyes were hard as steel. "Absolutely." He could have lectured her about the dangers of drugs, but it wouldn't have done any good. Nearly losing her only parent? That was a far better antidrug lesson in his book. Real world consequences for actions even if it required a little acting to cover the fact that he could never get high, become sick from an overdose, or actually die.
"Ok," Peter sighed as he looped Gabriel's long arm across his shoulders to help support his soon to be sagging weight, "let's go." He struggled to drag Gabriel out to the hallway where Jenna hovered nervously by her door. "We have to take him to a hospital." He informed her, "Get your things. Hurry."
Peter sat between them in the cramped backseat of the taxi. He explained to Jenna that ambulance rides were expensive and as they didn't have health insurance, her father had to pay his medical expenses out of pocket. It was a gamble, but her father would just have to suffer until they got to the emergency room. Gabriel laid his head back on the seat and made small moaning sounds while Jenna glanced anxiously past Peter to check on him. "Hang in there, man." Peter encouraged him, "We're almost there." Gabriel winced and tried to curl himself into a ball in the very limited space he had while Peter kept a watchful eye on him and texted Emma so she could know what was going on and possibly help with the charade.
Emma was waiting by the emergency room doors with a gurney when they arrived. Peter didn't explain in his text message exactly what was going on other than to ask her to pretend to treat Gabriel as if he had overdosed on drugs. Perplexing as it was, she hoped that they would explain later and she could always say the event was a training exercise should anyone question what happened to her supposed patient that she didn't really treat. Peter helped her get Gabriel out of the taxi and guide him onto the gurney where he lay limp as a dishrag, apparently unresponsive. She looked to Peter and Jenna. "What happened?"
"He just ate some candy." Peter shrugged. "And then he started foaming at the mouth and vomiting. He said he was numb and then he passed out on the way here." Peter ran down the hall with the gurney while Emma jogged alongside, taking what vitals she could and they guided their cargo into the last exam room in the hall. She gave Jenna a stern, worried look as she closed the door and pulled the privacy curtain to block the view from the hall as she and Peter supposedly set to work rescuing her father.
Jenna's heart was pounding in her chest, worried that she might lose her father. Even if he was a dick sometimes, he was all she had. If he didn't make it, where would she go? She pulled out her cell phone and called the only person she could for help and the cause of the whole mess. "Paige, I am in serious trouble." She confided as she paced back and forth in front of the door to his room.
"Are you grounded again?" She giggled.
"I'm not kidding, Paige! My dad's in the hospital. He found whatever you stashed in my drawer and he ate like half the bag!"
"Whoa." She snickered. "He must be seriously high."
"This shit's not funny!" She cried in desperation. "He seriously could die! He's in a coma or something, I don't know. What was that stuff? I have to tell them, maybe it can help them make him better."
"Sorry about your luck, Jenna, but there's no way I'm getting into trouble for that shit. No way." She curtly informed her friend before hanging up.
Jenna sat helplessly in a row of chairs opposite his room and hung her head, sobbing. She didn't want him to die and she couldn't to a damn thing to help him. She felt guilty for all the times she yelled at him and all the mean things she said in anger, but sometimes it just came out and she didn't know why. She didn't notice that Peter had quietly joined her until she felt his arm snake around her shoulders and pull her close in an effort to comfort her. She looked to him with red, swollen eyes as the tears continued to stream down her face. "He's really sick, isn't he?" She asked in a shaky voice.
Peter couldn't lie to her. The game had gone on long enough and she seemed to have learned her lesson. "He'll be ok." He promised. "But he's lucky." In the sense that something like this could never actually kill him in the first place…
"It wasn't mine, Uncle Peter, I swear!" She pleaded with him to believe her. "It was my friend's. She left it there. I didn't want him to get sick. I didn't." She buried her face in his chest and began sobbing again. "He's going to be so mad at me."
Peter let her cry as he rubbed her arm. He felt bad for doing what he did, but Gabriel was right. Despite the deception, this was a far better lesson for her to learn. "Your father loves you very much." He reminded her. "And he'd do anything to keep you safe. Even though this happened, I think he feels better that it wasn't you in there, but it does sound like you need some new friends." He gently lifted her chin to look him in the eye and he gave her a small smile. "You're way too smart to get mixed up in that scene, Jenna. Believe me, I see it every day. You don't want to go down that path."
"So he's going to be ok?" She asked hopefully. It was a big relief to her to know that she wasn't going to end up in an orphanage because her dad died.
"Yeah. He's going to stay here for a little while, but you can come home with me and Emma." He promised while he wiped away her tears. He never witnessed Sylar cry, but looking into her eyes gave him a pretty good idea of what it would look like.
"Can I see him before I go?" She sniffed.
Peter bit his lip and glanced to the room beyond. When he left, Gabriel was lounging casually on the gurney with his hands behind his head, chatting with Emma about what the drug could have possibly been. "Let me check." He dashed back into the room and behind the curtain.
"And the winner is…" Emma announced as she read the results of Gabriel's blood test fresh from the lab, "ecstasy. Although it looks like you only have a residual amount remaining in your system. Pretty amazing considering you took what…12 or so tablets?"
"And I didn't feel a thing." Gabriel sighed.
"She wants to see you." Peter informed him. "She's pretty upset. I think you got what you wanted."
Gabriel looked nervously at Emma and she gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, we can make it look good. We've done it before."
He broke out into a wide smile. "Just don't cut me open this time. I don't want to wake up in the morgue."
Emma exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Peter. Even after so many years, they heeded Noah's advice of never telling Gabriel that it was actually Damian that did the dirty work. She gave a small chuckle as she hooked him up to the surrounding diagnostic machines and they came to life with reports of his pulse, heartbeat, respirations, blood oxygen levels, and temperature. She gently placed an oxygen tube into his nose and taped the end of a saline line to his arm to cover the fact that there was in fact no needle. "I remember a time when you said I couldn't touch you unless you were dying and now look at you facing your worst fears of being in a hospital surrounded by doctors." Peter couldn't contain his laughter at the memory of them with Matt right before they took the serum shots and the way Sylar steadfastly refused to allow her to examine him in any way.
Gabriel frowned at Peter before turning back to Emma so she could read his lips. "As I recall, you were frightened of me too. I remember the look on your face when you figured out who I was."
She nodded in concession. "And I remember the look on your face when you figured out I was deaf, but it looks like we were wrong about each other. I shouldn't have been afraid of you and you shouldn't have felt like I was a broken watch to fix."
"I didn't feel as though I needed to fix you." He quietly confessed. "It wasn't your disability that I was interested in. It was your ability."
Peter froze and he stared at Gabriel accusingly. "You actually considered taking her ability?" He cried in disbelief.
Gabriel's large eyes filled with sadness and he softly reminded him, "It's who I am, Peter."
"That's who you were." Emma corrected, giving his hand a gently supportive squeeze. "It's not who you are now. I forgive you."
"Yeah, man. I'm sorry." Peter told him, sincerely remorseful for bringing up the past. It was water under the bridge and he couldn't exactly hold him in contempt for something he didn't do.
"Thank you." Gabriel all but whispered. It was such a huge struggle and burden that it was nice to know that at least someone appreciated his effort.
"Absolutely." Peter beamed, happy to see that his apology actually meant something to him. "Now look sick so you can get out of here."
He let his eyes drift halfway closed and he took shallow breaths in order to look as physically exhausted as he could manage for feeling completely fine. As much as he loved Jenna, he hoped that she would make it quick so he could get up and go home. Emma was incorrect to assume that he was finally comfortable being around doctors in a hospital. He was barely able to tolerate the sterile smell and bright lights because it triggered too many bad memories for him, but he forced himself to do it to keep his daughter from making a potentially tragic mistake.
Jenna cautiously and timidly approached her father's bedside, looking back to Peter for reassurance several times during the short trip while Emma pretended to gather data from one of the machines. She stood staring down at him for what seemed like the longest time, her swollen eyes taking in the severity of the situation before she hesitantly reached out to lightly touch a fold of fabric from his shirtsleeve. He slowly turned his head toward her and gave her a small soft and lazy smile, almost as if he were in a stupor. Seeing him in the condition he was made her feel overwhelming guilt, but it was only made worse by the fact that he didn't seem to be angry with her for it. If anything, he seemed to be happy to see her and it was too much. She fell across his chest, hugging him as best she could for the position he was in. "I'm sorry, Dad." She cried while he gave her a few pats on the back. "I didn't mean to make you sick. It's my fault. I shouldn't have lied to you and told you it was candy."
"It's ok, baby." He soothed her. "You can go stay with Uncle Peter and Aunt Emma until I get home. We can talk about it then, ok?"
"C'mon," Peter invited her, "we can make a get well card for him when we get home, but he has to go to sleep for a little while."
She stood up and dried her eyes, noting the mess she left on his shirt although he didn't seem to mind that either. "I love you, Dad."
He gave her a genuine smile and his eyes lit up with pride. She hadn't told him that in a very long time. "I love you too, Jenna."
