"Daddy!" The voice came from outside the front door with the sound of cars behind it and I slowly sat down on the top step so that they couldn't see me and in reverse I could see them. Nathan stepped through the ornate frame of the doorway to the front steps where he gathered two boys up in his arms and kissed and hugged the two of them in turn. I dug my fingers into the twists of the rails and could see myself played over them screaming "Daddy" at the top of my lungs as I leapt in his arms with them already open and his brief case fallen to admit. "How's my girl?" He'd ask and kiss my cheek so I could feel the scruff of his beard and tell him it was time to shave. Daddy was the last thing I'd said to him. I love you his last to me. A woman in a wheelchair came up behind them as Nathan walked in with a boy in each arm and promising them presents that they scrambled out of his arms to get to. As they passed I saw Peter watching them from the sitting room – a true sign of wealth that they had a room dedicated to sitting – before turning to look up at me and trying to read my expression. I smiled to show him that I was okay and restood to turn on the stairs and back to the guest room that Angela had temporarily labelled mine.
"Paris is cold this time of year," she said conversationally as I stepped through the doorway and not a second after. "So here's a nice warm coat. Brown wool." Funny because it looked black to me. She started folding it to put into the suitcase and pressing it down so it would fit. "It's not flashy, but it's fashionable. Now let's talk about gloves."
"I'm more partial to socks myself," I countered, lazily tangling my fingers around the end of my ponytail that I'd looped over my shoulder. She turned to raise her eyebrows and sighed as if to say "I should have guessed."
"Nobody likes a smart mouth," she informed me coolly as she shuffled through the other clothes before a knock on the door interrupted her ministrations. We both looked up to see Peter at the doorway casually turning to lean against it and expected to one of us to leave.
"I'll let you two say goodbye," Angela said stiffly as she walked around me and past Peter out the doorway. I over exaggerated my mimic of her "Nobody likes a smart mouth" to her back before taking one of the shirts she'd pulled out to fold it and keep my hands busy.
"You can't leave," he said, walking in to stand next to me and sighing like he knew arguing was a lost cause.
"Unfortunately that's not your decision," I told him, draping the sleeves together so their cuffs lined up but finding them off center and having to start again. I was a little OCD about packing. Go figure. "But then again it's not really mine either."
"Look, I found you in Texas trying to save another girl who turns out to be my niece who is your best friend," he said carefully, gesturing with each added complication and giving me the moment to follow. "This ... this is destiny."
"No, it's crazy," I said with enough of a laugh to throw him off and hide how aware I was that we were alone. "Things happen and we don't understand them so we say it was destiny so to us it makes sense." I walked over to the wardrobe behind me – having already checked for Narnia – and taking the shirt off the hanger. She hadn't specifically said it was for me but I liked it anyway.
"It's not like that it's ... you're here to save the world." His voice dropped as he said it like he shouldn't have and it was a secret he should have kept. I slowly turned to face him – waiting for the punchline.
"Why me?" I asked, my voice a whisper and one I felt more in my thoughts with the terror that came with it then in the air with the probable reassurance.

"Why not you?" He asked, arms crossing over his chest and surveying me like he dared me to have an answer. Because I was a self loathing, reasonably anonymous teenager with some crazy DNA and a record and I was fine with that. I think what wasn't fine was that I was fine but it was myself I was talking to and I didn't have to justify that. To Peter on the other hand ... I took up folding another shirt to avoid having to do just that.
"It's more than that it's ...," he backtracked – literally – to the doorway to partially close it before coming up beside me and no preparation for the rapidly decreased space between us. "I explode. I've seen it. I wipe out the whole city. You, Nathan, everyone and ..." His voice trailed as his words did and he stared at me pleadingly, willing me to understand and why it was important. I blinked at him, taking it in and the defiance in logic it made. People don't explode. But then again they don't go invisible or heal from any wound. I was really going to need therapy after this.
"I'm sorry but ... I don't see how I can help," I apologized, tossing the shirt in my hands into the suitcase with less care then Angela though she was probably going to repack it anyway no matter how well I did it so why waste the effort? I made a move to go around him but his hand was on my wrist and pulled me in close so in a heartbeat I was against him and his lips pressed to mine. The shock of it went under my skin and unsettled it so my hands were to his chest and gripping his shoulders so he was closer and I could kiss him deeper. His hands were in my hair and on my waist and I was lifted up against him so I was standing on my toes and briefly thinking how awkward – or opportunist – it would be if I tripped and fell on him. He finally broke contact so we were both panting and pressed his forehead to mine, his hair brushing over my strands so I thought faintly that I hadn't taken the chance to run my hands through it to see if it was soft.
"Because I need you," he murmured so I tasted the words more then I heard them and I ran my fingers up his cheek to touch the hair along his neck. It was soft. A throat was cleared from the doorway and we pulled apart to see Angela standing there with her arms folded over her chest and her fingers tapping impatiently on her elbow. And the award of worst timing goes to ...
"I think that's enough of a goodbye," she said coldly and Peter nodded like he agreed though lingered as if he didn't before ultimately waking out so his footsteps retreated and leaving Angela and me alone. She continued to stare at me harshly and I thought that now would be a really bad time for me to discover her ability was to make people's heads explode through eye contact. Probably not though. I'd only end up getting blood and brains on the furniture. Born to please and all.

I knocked carefully on the door to – what I had learned from experience was – Nathan's office so he and Peter looked up and I could taste his lips again and the pressure of his hands on my back. Yeah I should have taken a cold shower first.
"Jess?" Peter asked, half standing from his seat while Nathan only turned, arms still crossed over his chest like I wasn't worth the effort to unfold them. Lovely man.
"I was thinking about what you said ... about the ...," I hesitated for a moment, the idea of it stretching the logic a little too far so I mimed an explosion with my hands and a short "pft" sound. A smile quirked at Peters lips while Nathan almost looked personally offended. "And ... there was a man named Ted who came to my house – the Bennets house and he kind of also ... "I repeated the gesture and sound" ... and I thought what if it had to do with Peter ..." The gesture / sound were implied this time.
"Wait ... you're saying this man – Ted – blew up your house?" Nathan asked, glancing from Peter to me with his fingers outstretched from his folded arms and trying to understand.
"There was some other stuff but pretty much, yeah," I shoved my hands into my pockets like it was no big deal and I dealt with this stuff all the time.
"Well, maybe that's it," Peter answered, grasping onto the idea and the hope – ? – of it. "Maybe I'm not the bomb then. Maybe this guy Ted is. Maybe we can stop him."
"You said you had a dream that you blew up New York City," Nathan countered, walking around behind his desk and resting his hands on the back of the chair.
"Yeah, I also dreamed that I could fly," Peter said with that same small smile and touching his fingers to the desk to look at him. "We know how well that turned out for you."
"You can fly?" I asked, latching onto the detail and turning to Nathan in surprise. He rolled his eyes with a shrug like it was no big deal and not one to be commented on.
"'Bitchin'," I said, because it was the most eyebrow raising response I could think of and being rewarded for it by one from Nathan though Peter just looked amused.
"The election is tomorrow," Peter continued, drawing Nathan's attention back. "Pick up the phone, call the FBI. We need to find him. Nathan ... trust me."
"I'll make a few calls," Nathan conceded after a moment, standing by the window so the light came in to soften the edges and lines of his face and make him look years younger and almost likable. Peter nodded, accepting this before turning to walk out the doorway and so close past me that I could feel his arm brush mine. I turned to follow him – possibly among other things.
"Jessica," Nathan called after, stopping me and making me rethink the likability thing. He came around the desk to stand in front of me, looking uncomfortable. "I just wanted to thank you for coming to me with this. From the sounds of it you've been through a lot and ... you've been very helpful. Thank you." His words startled me and I stood frozen for a moment unsure how to answer to the gratitude that I so rarely heard and even less directed towards me. It was almost unsettling and I wished he'd let me go without saying anything but felt warmed that he had either way. I smiled and bobbed a curtsy to thank him before continuing my goal of walking out the doorway and hearing his sigh of "oh boy" behind me.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, ducking to avoid being clocked by a larger than life red, blue and white poster of a smiling Nathan which seemed oddly appropriate. "Shouldn't be looking for Ted?"
"The FBI and police aren't going to believe us," Peter explained, glancing back to make sure that I was still behind him with his fingers reaching before thinking better of it and lowering them. "They'll take Nathan seriously, though. He can evacuate the people." We came around the corner lined with balloons – you guessed it red, blue and white – and to the windows lining the office. I froze when I caught a glimpse inside and the shape of a man on an angle to us with graying hair and a severe face.
"Wait," I said, grabbing Peter's hand to hold it and stop him as the man continued talking and solemnly addressing Nathan who appeared in no state of distress to be having the conversation.
"What?" Peter asked, gently concerned as I pulled him back to the other window so we were out of his line of sight and the stream of balloons tripping me and annoyingly pinging off my side and face.
"What, what, what – what is it?" He asked again, almost panicked now as I peered through the blinds at him and the memories coming back so hard it almost made me double over. My dad pulling me behind him, the man with his gun outreached and telling him to give me up before firing and my dad's chest exploding in blood.
"That man ... he's the one who killed my father," I scratched my fingers at the glass and was blinded by contrasting grief and anger that made me want to tear him to pieces and claw and break at his skin sobbing why he hadn't killed me instead.
"What?" Peter asked, his vocabulary reduced to that one word so great was his confusion. "What are you talking about?" Ah, there's more.
"That man ...," I stabbed through the reflection at him as I could see the look on his face when I screamed and tried to hold my dad's blood in then a more recent thought of him coming out of the burning house while Ted exploding and limping away from the crowd. "He killed my dad. He's who we're running from – me, Claire ... I have to get out of here." I made to move past the potted plant but the balloons tangled around my legs so I stumbled and one of the blue ones popping against my ankle. Ow.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa wait a minute," Peter urged, taking me by the arms to pull me back and stroking my shoulders through my jacket. "We don't know what's going on in there."
"You're right. Clearly they're donating to charity and granting everyone ponies," I said through my teeth, trying to ignore the comfort of his arms and wanting to run screaming through the streets until my throat was raw and I could focus on that instead.
"Look just calm down and think for a minute," he tried to sooth, bending his knees so we were eye level and trying to seek out my gaze that I avoided by pointedly looking at the ceiling and the fluorescent bulbs making them water. "Hey." He rested his fingers on my chin to bring my eyes back to his and the different shards of green in them making my chest hurt. This was not the time.
"It can't be what you think," he said softly, thumb going back and forth under my chin so the hairs on the back of my neck stood up though that might have been static electricity from the balloons.
"And what do I think?" I asked, daring him to voice it and his eyes becoming uncertain at the implication of saying it aloud. He nervously licked his lips and leaned closer so two men with posters could walk by and Nathans face leering out from one of them and making me shiver.
"Are you sure it's him?" His voice was deadly quiet but the hint that I had messed up and gotten it wrong there and that sense of self hatred and doubt became louder and angrier in my ears that of all people he thought little of me too.
"No, I just pictured his face in my head a thousand times and then was warned off ever seeing him again if I wanted to get out of this alive," I forced the words through clenched teeth and forced his hands from my shoulders and back to his sides. He let me do so and took the hint to step back with the sudden force of my hostility.
"I'm sorry ... I didn't mean ...," he stumbled, not sure how to backtrack and rewrite what he said but I'd heard it and it was too late to try again.
"Do whatever you want I'm out of here," I pushed past him, elbowing balloons out of the way and then people as I made my way through the office and to the elevator with the faint sound of his voice calling out behind me.

I pressed down on the top of the suitcase to try and close it with the zipper straining and bulging before opening it again and riffling through the contents. Never in my life had I had anything close to designer clothes and now I had a whole suitcase full of them. I picked up a blouse and then a skirt and a dress before throwing them onto the pillows and trying again. It fit this time – though barely – and I sat on the top of it to hold it as I zipped it close around the edges until finally the ends met. I let my breath out in relief and bounced slightly to press it down further and feeling too high up perched on the suitcase that in turn was on the bed. My head was missing from the reflection in the mirror across from me and I ducked so it was visible but at an awkward angle. I stared back at myself in the glass before the image depressed me and I slid off of the suitcase to stand it up and grabbing a hold of the handle. It dropped off the edge of the bed and I fell over on top of it not used to the weight and trying to stand up and take it with me. It strained in my attempts and dragged over the floorboards to leave a faint mark and I peered through the doorway and wondered whether Angela would care – or notice – if I rolled it down the stairs or over the railing. Definitely and definitely. Was it worth it? Definitely. I dragged it to the doorway and then the landing on top of the stairs and edged it closer before it lost balanced and rolled and crashed down the steps. It hit the wall next to the front door and came to a stop for the most part unharmed and I walked down after it, my side hurting from the fall but a small price to pay that it had made it down in one piece. Whether I would be if Angela had heard was debatable but I'd call it payback for some of the items of clothing she had picked out and insisted that I wear.
"What was ...?" Peter came around the bottom of the stairs and I slowed down as I saw him and brushed my hair forehead to avoid looking at him and the gesture not as inconspicuous as I'd hoped.
"You're leaving. Without a goodbye?" He asked, noticing the suitcase still by the door and my solemn expression to easily put two and two together.
"Goodbye. Farewell. Ciao. Au Revoir. Aloha. Arrivederci ...," I stopped on the last step trying to think of any others. "That's all I know."
"You can't leave," he insisted, resting his arm on the rail to stop my progress and his hair falling into his eyes to shatter the color. I stared pointedly at the window behind his head at the traffic on the street and counting the color of the cars. Red, 2; blue, 3; green, 1 ...
"I thought we already discussed this," I said, growing bored with the game and meeting his eyes again so they were almost level and aided for the step I was standing on.
"No, you talked I listened," he defended, something in his other hand that I couldn't decipher at a glance but something suspicious from how he held it.
"Funny because I recall you talking," I said, stepping around past him and to my suit case so he grabbed me by the wrist to turn me back. My heart rate increased with the anticipation of what happened last time he did this but instead he pressed the object that was in his hands into mine so I felt the coldness and shape of it and saw that it was a gun. Slightly different then last time ...
"I figured a way out for you to save the world," He said, removing his fingers from pressing it to my palm so they lingered on my skin before all of a sudden they were gone.
"What is this?" I asked, turning it over and the weight of it heavier than it should have realistically been. I saw the gun raised to my dad's chest, the warning to let me go and then the explosion of sound so his chest ripped open and blood sprayed in the air as he stumbled and fell back as if in slow motion.
"I can handle Ted. But if not ... here's plan B," He tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged like it was of no importance and I looked up at him again and what he was leaving unsaid thick and heavy in my throat.
"I'm not going to kill you," I said, stepping back from him and my hand holding the gun shaking. It was a cruel joke. A stupid joke. And I hated that he was telling it.
"You have to," he said, coming closer again to put his hand over the gun and hold it down in my hand. The rest of me was shaking too now and I could hear the gunshots going off in my head and my screams of "Daddy" that went unheard and were answered by sprays of blood. "If this doesn't work ... if I lose control ... I trust you, Jess. And I need you to trust me."
"I barely even know you," I defended quietly, everything I was and knew contradicting the logic behind my words and rending them to pieces so I couldn't repeat them.
"I know," his words were even quieter and I could feel them on my forehead stirring the hair that had fallen over my eyes. "But if this goes wrong and we have no other choice." He put his fingers under my chin to raise my gaze again and I was struck by the color of his eyes like I had been for the first time weeks – had it only been weeks – ago before everything changed and now I knew why. "Please." I swallowed hard and suppressed every doubt and memory and trigger that drove me to distraction in fits that wanted to break me down and make me bleed from the inside out.
"Okay."

I tapped my feet against the concrete and shifted so the coldness of the fountain against my legs moved with me and made me wish that I had taken up Angela's offer to wear tights. Or refuse the suggestion to wear a skirt. I pressed my hands between my knees and let out my breath slowly so it clouded and then faded in the air before trying it again with the same result. A little girl and her dad walked by holding hands and I watched them, her steps skipping to keep up with him while he laughed indulgently and kept urging her on until they disappeared in the crowd though I continued looking. For a moment before they left they had almost looked like me and dad ...
"Still no sign of him," Peter sighed, coming over to sit next to me and exhaling deeply so his breath also clouded then faded.
"Are you sure we're at the right place?" I asked, breathing between my palms and rubbing them together which only made them damp and the wool of the gloves stick together.
"It's got to be," he reached into his pocket and pulled the sketch book out again with the poor sketch of Kirby plaza and fingered the edges of the page as if he could erase some detail and reveal another one underneath.
"Well maybe it's the wrong time?" I shrugged, tucking my ankles behind each other and moving farther on the edge away from the fountain but the cold again finding me and smugly making goosebumps stand up on my legs.
"I don't know," he admitted, tucking it back into his jacket and staring out over the crowded street. I followed his gaze to see what he saw then froze when something familiar stood out and made my heart stop in my chest.
"Jessica?" He called and I was up off the fountain and running to him so the cement was rough under my ears and a couple people got in my way before irritably getting out of it again. I threw myself into my arms before I could stop running entirely and Noah held me tighter then I thought possible so I couldn't breathe and I didn't care. His heartbeat was loud against my cheek and I clawed my fingers into his back to hold onto him closer and then closer still.
"I love you, Jessie," he whispered, his face into my shoulder and I nodded so he knew I heard before I pulled back so he could press his hands to my cheeks and the feel of them warm in contrast.
"You should have gone with Claire and the Haitian," he chastised, gripping my arms but his eyes too kind for the exasperation to hit it's mark.
"Did you really expect I would?" I asked, offering a smile and his own tentatively widened before he pulled me back into his arms and to his chest.
"Jess?" Peter called nervously and I loosened myself enough to look through Noah's arms and at Peter again where his hands were twisting color and glowing and standing several feet away from – Ted. Shit.
"What's he doing?" Ted demanded, stepping back and afraid as Peter started to pant and his features tightening as he tried to hold it back.
"He's absorbing your power," Noah said quietly and holding me tighter to him as if to push me into a run at a moment's notice if it was called for. Peter's eyes rose to mine so they were alive in panic and I felt the weight of the gun again heavy in my bag and the single word that drowned out everything else: No.