Burning Bridges
"Tell me it's not true, Peter!" Claire repeated, this time a shrill command that bounced off the walls encasing the platform. More steam continued to whirl through the air. The party stared at each other in shock. Nobody answered her desperate plea.
No way was this what it looked like! How could it be?! It was impossible! It must be the heat, or a trick of the light, surely?! Claire's pristine vision and immaculate hearing must have been malfunctioning, because it looked and sounded a lot like her uncle, the most loyal person she had ever met, was in cahoots with her personal tormentor...
Claire Bennet didn't often doubt herself. This sight, however, was one she just couldn't begin to distinguish from those amongst her darkest dreams. A captive stuck to the wall in an all too familiar fashion; that significant, black baseball cap discarded on the floor; and last but not least, Sylar himself, in the flesh, standing before her oh so brazenly as if he was actually welcome! But coming face to face with that bastard wasn't the worst part, and it wasn't even that Noah was right and Peter definitely seemed to be up to something questionable after all... it was that he was here with Sylar. With him! Holding him! Turning to him for support the way he'd used to look at Nath –
"Claire..."
It was Peter who first shattered the dead air. Dazed, the teenager squinted at her hero but was unable to recognise him. He looked even worse than he had back at Mercy Heights, if that were possible – now even sporting a purple bruise over his left cheekbone. It wasn't that, though, which disfigured him in her eyes. It was the expression on his face. Guilt, sorrow, fear, all stirred into one... it said everything. Said so much more than even Sylar's fingers slipping away from Peter's hand like a guilty child having been caught out. Claire blinked rapidly in hopes of erasing the image now branded into her memory. One of tenderness.
"What're you even doing here?" That voice, the one that rolled chills down Claire's spine every time she heard it, only hammered another nail in deeper. Everyone ignored Sylar's question. It seemed so irrelevant now, and even if Claire had been so gracious as to give that cretin her attention, she couldn't stop staring at Peter... at the handsome young man who had used to be her safe place.
"Claire, please, let me explain -" He started forward and her face crumpled further. Unable to recover her voice, she recoiled from the advancing empath and bumped back into the ever steady form of her father.
"That's close enough, Peter." Noah growled. A quiet, metallic click sounded from somewhere over Claire's head, and she couldn't bring herself to care for those implications. She couldn't even care for the oil rig that was burning at all sides outside the protective shell of her ability. It was nothing in comparison to this betrayal tearing her heart in half.
Claire could actually feel her intention to save her uncle from a crazy misunderstanding die. It was awful to think she'd been so worried about him earlier. He'd lied to her at the hospital! He'd sat there, looked into her eyes and promised that his only thoughts of Sylar were concern over her safety! And she'd stupidly bought every single word of it! She remembered thinking he'd been such a mess, worn, hiding something huge behind tired eyes and a sad smile... and even though the thought of Peter Petrelli of all people joining a terrorist group and hurting innocents to make a statement about human rights had to be the most ridiculous thing ever – this was so much worse.
( )
Peter stopped as commanded, but not because of Noah. Because of Claire. He recognised that he should be more worried by the man who had already killed him today than he was, but the upset, petite young girl was much more of a threat than the experienced gunman standing right behind her.
His heart fractured even further at the look on Claire's face. It wasn't just pain. Or repulsion. Or betrayal... she was scared of him. Being shot, falling to his death, failing to save the rig, experiencing first hand evo hate, and discovering that his own mother was once again at the heart of a despicable scheme clearly wasn't enough pain for today. Having this fear wrenched from him and played out live was only a natural conclusion to the shitstorm, it seemed.
The panic attack building inside Peter's chest finally erupted. It should have overwhelmed him for sure, but for some reason the burning embers only dissipated. Possibly it was due to too much stress to physically cope with, delirium from overheating, or maybe it was the natural instinct to be strong for his niece kicking in. Whatever the reason, it was actually a sick sense of relief when Peter broke so far past the limit that all his worry congealed into one numb, manageable mass inside.
For the first time since the new additions had joined them on the platform, clear thought began to tumble through Peter's mind. Now there was no excuse to push this confrontation further into the future; he'd known all along that his naïve attempts to keep Claire happy would come around to bite him in the end. He'd just hoped it wouldn't have to happen so soon...
"Listen to me." He said gently, fighting to be heard over the commotion of the rig without coming across aggressive. "I know this is confusing, believe me, I get it. And I wish I could... explain it. But I can't. Not here. All I can say is that Sylar isn't the same person you knew." Peter pressed. "He's changed, he's different now. I swear."
Claire's eyes bulged at this, as if it was the only thing he could have said to make matters worse. "How can you say that?! Don't you remember what he did...?! He assaulted me! He killed my father!" Peter's internal organs twisted harshly. "...Your own brother!"
"Of course I remember." Clenching his fists at the memories, he forced his expression to be earnest, sympathetic, genuine. "But he's not like that anymore, we've... been through a lot since then. Please try to understand." It didn't matter that he knew perfectly well that she was as stubborn as every Petrelli in the bloodline and wouldn't back down from her opinion. Because Peter wouldn't either. He couldn't not try. "I trusthim, Claire."
( )
The girl's unwelcome reminders of Sylar's deeds ripped through the steam and into the man himself. He felt his brows lower and lips thin: a protective reaction, defensive. He felt either electricity or fury lift the hairs on his arms, felt his feelings take the punch and bruise instantly (yes, as juvenile as that sounded), because of course his second ever heroic mission just had to be dragged through the muck of his past...
Even though it had been close to a decade since Sylar had last stood face to face with Claire Bennet, he realised he hadn't missed her at all. Or the girl's incredible talent to exude disgust without uttering one word. Sylar hated that skill more now than he always had. It was a new experience, though, to not be the only one on the receiving end.
She was looking at Peter almost the same way she looked at Sylar... with such fear... distrust... Ouch. Yet there was Peter, staying true to his word and standing by Sylar anyway. The watchmaker could only imagine how deep Claire's reaction must be cutting the little man, the guy who (for some godforsaken reason) couldn't even fathom her as anything less than a porcelain angel. It was bullshit, she was anything but, however even though Sylar didn't agree with his friend's delusions he did appreciate the sentiment behind them. It had taken years, after all, and maybe Sylar was still learning the complexities of families – but one thing he knew for sure was Peter's infallible devotion towards his loved ones. Whether they deserved it or not.
It didn't feel like years ago to recall the first time the empath had confessed to him. It had been another lonely day, after another pointless fight, when he had let slip the truth about his so-called family. And all at once Sylar had seen it too – none of them gave a fuck about him. None of them cared until they needed something he could provide. Of course Peter hadn't meant it badly, it had just been stating unfortunate fact... but Sylar would never forget the look on his face or the tears in his eyes that nobody else would ever see.
How many times since then had both Peter and Sylar been aware of it, skirted around the topic or bitten each other's heads off because of it? Sylar couldn't even keep count. For all the Petrellis' many declarations of love to one another, they really were a heartless bunch, including Claire, excluding Peter of course. All that mattered was that they both knew the unfortunate truth of the matter, yet Peter still loved his family in spite of it. He loved Claire, he wanted to protect her and stop anything bad from ever happening to her... but the Indestructible Girl could hardly back up her claims in return. It pissed Sylar off more than he had ever expressed aloud.
But it wasn't just guilt at the rig or frustration at Claire's undeserved free pass that was winding him up. It was the fear of losing Peter to the same fucking demon that had taken years to evade.
Sylar was very, very, unfortunately aware that Peter struggled with a serious issue of disrespecting Nathan through their... association. And every whisper of the dead Senator's name stabbed Sylar with the insecurity that Peter would relapse again. Sure, they had finally made it past that last hurdle with the crumbling of bricks, but the scars had not quite faded and Sylar would rather burn in this sinking rig than stand here and do nothing while a little girl pissed over that progress right in front of him!
...'I trust him, Claire'...
Claire was yet to provide a vocal response to Peter's declaration, and because there wasn't time to be shy and because Peter couldn't physically be the one to break her heart, Sylar stepped up to share the burden. This was his moment, even though they'd both been dreading it for a long time coming.
Truthfully, Sylar had hoped he wouldn't be anywhere in the vicinity when Peter took one for the team and broke the news to Claire, but in the guy's current, rather fragile, mental state – Sylar wasn't about to let this little brat beat him to a pulp. So he stood close enough to Peter to be a comfort. A moral support. A statement.
"It's true." He refrained from tacking on 'I'm sorry' because he wasn't. Far from it. He wasn't sorry at all for his only meaningful relationship. Just a little guilty that it had to be such an issue for outsiders.
( )
"Don't you speak to her!" Noah snapped suddenly, his gun aimed true at the murderer. "You don't even look at her!" Surprisingly, Sylar appeared to fall into obedient compliance, but Noah wasn't fooled. Strategies were still swirling around in his mind's eye, an inevitability, not a possibility: Renautas wanted Sylar taken in... but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, right...? ...Noah didn't even have to kill the man to do it... just drop him long enough for the rig to do the dirty work...
Claire was huddled against Noah, lost for words, flaring his protective father reflexes. She was reduced to a mere shadow of the agent she'd just so avidly insisted she wanted to be, defeated at the first sign of conflict. Which was exactly what Noah had wanted to spare her from. If he didn't love her as much as he did he would use this example to call her out on not being ready for duty and send her packing. As it was, the particular Sylar/Peter circumstance was one that still jarred nastily with Noah – and he had only a fraction of the emotional involvement that his daughter did!
That didn't mean he had none, however.
Wizened eyes scoured the place from behind one and a half horn-rimmed lens, lingering on the human being trapped against the wall. Noah's face rippled with anger before he once again recalled his standard, expressionless mask with less ease than he would have liked. "I have to say I'm disappointed in you, Peter."
( )
Noah Bennet spoke steadily, almost calmly, but his tone was somehow loud enough to compete with the ringing apparatus that was straining on all sides. Peter tried his best to mirror the calm authority of the man opposite, but his heart was hammering against his ribcage and he was physically shivering under the unbearable heat of this place, roiling through his body and dewing sweat along his skin.
"I'm not the enemy here, Noah." He insisted, already uncomfortably familiar with the murderous device in the agent's clutches. "I don't want to fight you. We can talk this out... okay?" It didn't have to resort to violence... it didn't have to end in blood again... "You know me."
Claire's mutilated hiss shot through the steam. "Do I?!" They were definitely words wrapped around a sob, a sound that stabbed right through the empath's gut. He glanced again at the almost unrecognisable form of his niece. His heart broke a little more when he saw the rage twisting her features, the disdain being thrown at him... the gun in her hands may as well have shot him when she turned it his way, for the pain it caused inside.
( )
"The guy I knew wouldn't dream of insulting Nathan like this..." One tear of betrayal glistened in Claire's eye before rolling down her cheek, only to evaporate almost instantly. Voice lost, she sliced a glare over Peter's shoulder. She hoped her accusation sliced right into his heart.
Nathan... Superman... he had been Peter's idol as Peter was to her: an inspiration, a protective older relative who should always be there to keep you safe from harm. Peter and Nathan's unconditional love had always been unrivalled, stronger even than the elder's affection for his own daughter! So much that often Claire had actually found herself envying the brothers' bond. Yet Peter could now so brazenly spit on Nathan's grave like this? Then have the nerve to act like Claire was in the wrong for being upset...?!
She couldn't do anything other than stand there, hopes dashed, assault rifle on autopilot in her hands. Maybe her father had been right all along... she wasn't a competent agent ready to take on the world. Such dreams trickled into nothing more than the foolish hopes of a blind little girl who couldn't handle getting her heart broken for the hundredth time.
It should have been too noisy in here, but she could hear Peter's words anyway. She could feel them patter off her invincible skin. Could hear only his voice, like the rest of the screaming rig had narrowed into this moment, everything else had dropped away and what was left was running on delay.
( )
"Claire, please, don't be like this. Sylar's not gonna hurt anyone -"
"Tell that to my team." Noah painfully recalled being forced to leave his fallen crew behind. "To the civilians who just died here."
Peter blanched. Conflictingly, considering his part to play in the entire fiasco, Noah swore that the despair painting over the young man's features was genuine. "It wasn't us, you have to believe me –"
"I don't "have"to do anything."
"You used to trust me! Why is that any different because I trust Sylar?!"
"No offence, Peter, but your judge of character hasn't been very encouraging in the past."
The words ricocheted briefly before being swallowed up in the depths of the cavern. Noah wished it didn't affect him to see the traitorous man hurt by this. "...You're right." He confessed.
This shocked Noah. That was usually the part where defence or denial came swinging into play.
"I make mistakes." Peter admitted, taking the opportunity to sneak one step closer. "It's only human, right? We're not superheroes. Just men, trying to do the best we can to make up for our wrongs. You, me... Sylar. Everyone should at least get that chance, right?" He tilted his head as he spoke, distracting Noah enough by the movement that he almost didn't notice how much the distance between them shrank. Damn, the young man was playing his part to perfection, at any rate.
Only... perfection still wasn't enough.
"Sorry." Noah said, not sorry at all. "But you understand my hesitation?" He drawled sarcastically, observing the scene again through streamed up glasses: the victim gasping on the wall, Sylar's outstretched hand flexing to silence him, ruthless as always. "Set him down, Gabriel. Slowly." Noah commanded, wiping his lens with his free hand and nudging his gun in the direction of the victim. The impatient huff that greeted him didn't do anything to stem his rage.
"Bennet, the rig is coming down! If we all want to make it out of here wecan't stay and chit-chat!"
"I said set him down." Noah repeated, practically growling this time.
( )
Noah's demand shook Peter, seeping his awareness back together while watching as if from far away. Shit – he'd totally forgotten that Francis was even here! Truthfully, he had been too invested in Claire until now to notice much else, even that their relentless hunter had found them once again, as if jumping through time shouldn't even be an issue. It was impossible to keep his head above the tide and deflect both attackers vying for his attention at once, but now he was well aware that the agent's gun was trained on them for what felt like the millionth time that day; and that Francis was not helping his and Sylar's argument in the slightest.
At his side, Peter could feel the frustration wafting off Sylar like hopelessness was rising from himself. It just wasn't fair. They'd tried so hard to do the right thing here, and after all their hard work...! But there was no easy way out of this intricate web they'd spun for themselves.
Last time, "negotiating" had spiralled out of control far too fast without much hope of stopping it. This time, however – a real second chance – provided the option to do it right. And Peter intended on trying, at the very least.
The words were heavy as they left his lips. "Do what he says, Sylar."
"But -!"
Peter just shook his head dejectedly in response to the guy's sour expression.
( )
Although he didn't want to admit it, Sylar knew that Peter was probably right. An implied hostage situation was not what he wanted to convey here, and certainly wouldn't do them any favours while attempting to prove their good intentions. They had been just about to let this guy, Culp, go anyway. But if they lost him now – there went any evidence that could correlate with Peter and Sylar's story. Was it better for Sylar to let the captive go for the brownie points, or to stick to his guns and keep hold of the alibi...?
The watchmaker's thought process was hurried along by another ground-shaking groan from the rig. With a lead weight in his gut he lifted his telekinetic restraints. It wasn't the threat of bullets (although, yes, now heavily resented for their frequency in Sylar's recent life) that pressed his hand, or the fear for Peter's mortality (thankfully Noah in this time didn't yet seem to have come to the genius conclusion of using the empath as bait), but instead his most agonizing motive yet: the want to be taken on his word.
Sadly, it quickly became apparent when Francis scampered away that it was going to take much more than that gesture of good will to win over this crowd.
( )
With the hostage released, Noah gained the confidence to push forward under the narrowing deadline. He grasped gently onto Claire's shoulder, feeling it twitch underhand as she continued to simply stood there in shocked horror. It looked like Noah's persistent partner was going to be of no use after all, but despite everything, he couldn't deny that he was glad of her presence. The literal embodiment behind his motivation wasn't exactly easy to overlook.
"Renautas won't be forgiving." He told his prisoners, grimacing in a flicker of sadness for Peter's benefit. "They've got you on tape."
"Oh where have I heard that before...?" Sylar muttered to himself.
Noah's question was derailed by Peter stepping forward again, despite the weapon trained upon him. The foolishly noble man was now almost midway between Sylar and Noah, an arm reached out to both of them as if holding them back from running at each other like kids in the schoolyard. Normally this would be a preposterous idea for a well-educated, successful, middle aged man to partake in. Normally.
"We didn't do anything wrong here." The empath insisted. If Noah wasn't the hardened man he'd grown to be, he might even be swayed a little by the seemingly genuine words. It didn't fit with the rest of the facts, though: Angela's tip, the video proof, catching them red handed at the scene of the crime... "We were just trying to stop the rig from collapsing. Alright?"
"Is that so...?" Noah mused. Peter nodded sincerely. "...In that case, how did you know it was going to happen?" It was the millionth unanswered question when it came to these men (there was no way in hell Gabriel Gray had really been repairing watches all these weeks of observation, for example) but Noah knew better than to expect a full answer.
Sure enough, Peter's mouth pressed into a stoic line that no secret could sneak past. His answer was laid out with extreme care. "We knew Sylar was being set up... by Renautas. That guy we just... he was hired to look like Sylar. We only wanted to clear his name."
"Renautas is working towards a better future, we're trying to prevent stunts like this." Privately, Noah had expected at least something a bit more creative. Such a cock and bull story was actually disappointing after hunting for answers for so long but beggars can't be choosers. There would be plenty of time to interrogate them individually back at HQ – considering everyone made it out of here alive, that was.
( )
The last of Noah's patience visibly dissolved and his voice grated out like a sharp, rusty knife. "Like it or not, I'm taking you in, boys! You're a danger to society; you're a danger to yourselves! Don't make this harder than it already is 'cause I can assure you – Renautas has the means!"
Sylar scoffed. "Yeah I'll bet they do, it's just like Primatech! You're targeting and attacking people for no reason? What a way to a "better future"...!" He could easily have gone on, but zipped his lips when Peter's fingertips tapped his chest warningly.
Noah continued. "We're helping people like you. Giving them information, homes. After we took in Samuel Sullivan we rehabilitated the carnies we could trust -"
Peter sucked in a ragged breath. Even though he could only see the back of his head, Sylar could picture the expression on his face right now. He'd caught it too, the connotation in Noah's supposed-to-be-valiant speech that also just happened to be one of Peter's worst fears about the future.
"The "ones you could trust"...? You're hand picking who to drag away from their families and homes based on their ability?! That's not helping people, Noah! What you're doing is segregation! Kidnapping!"
Sylar had to admit this wasn't much of a surprise. Especially in accordance with Angela's elaborate plot to get rid of him. It was just the sort of morally-grey bullshit that would lure Noah in when taking on a new job. The good, trustworthy agent who'd shoot countless people for dog treats from the boss, who never asked questions before condemning a life, but could sleep well at night because he could convince himself it was "for the greater good"... No, it wasn't out of character at all. It was just the type of thing that Sylar hated most about the man.
Right on cue, good little employee stepped up to defend the signer of his pay checks with the same ignorance he usually did. "It's what we've always done, Peter." He said simply. "It's damage control, that's all this is. Some people with abilities can't be trusted, and if Primatech – or Renautas – wasn't cleaning up these messes, you bet your ass you'd know about it!"
( )
"That doesn't make it okay!"
"D'you know how many near misses we've dealt with since the carnival? ...Seventy nine." Noah's voice still effortlessly competed with the straining pipes and bolts at all sides. "Now that evos don't have to hide their powers they're out of control. We've got buildings burning down, revenge killings, party tricks gone wrong – last week we even stopped an Earthquake in California!"
It would be so much easier to just claim that Noah was wrong, no alternative. But Peter hated to think that he'd heard this speech before... once upon a time... from his own lips. It was almost exactly what his future self had warned of after teleporting Peter into the timeline where abilities were out in the open. The timeline nobody else living had seen. The one where, left unchecked, an unstable ability would split the entire world in half.
"Think what you like, but this is a necessary service. Someone has to do it, be that Primatech or Renautas, and it just so happens Renautas are most capable to deal with the sudden... expansion of charges." Peter could tell that Noah was trying to appeal to him now – he had adopted his fatherly figure routine. It was chilling how different he could look, even down a barrel of a gun. "You're the one always wanting to save lives, Peter – tell me we don't need counter measures in place."
Peter's dry, hot eyes scratched as they sightlessly searched the platform. He licked his lips, thoughts and memories and nightmares whirring past his vision like a gruesome film reel on replay. "...There are other ways."
He needed only to think back to his own abilities at the beginning of all this, how badly they'd overwhelmed him until he'd literally exploded from holding too much power. The seemingly perfect solution of a safe facility had, of course, turned out to be a trap – a prison that had sheared Peter's hair, abilities and, later, his entire personality from him against his will. Thankfully the amnesia-weeks dulled the four month prison sentence in his mind (at the time it had seemed like forever, but next to five years in hell, those four months were a breeze), but he could still recall the fear, desperation and depression that had engulfed him down in that cell.
And that had no doubt been first class treatment for a child of a Company founder. Peter didn't even want to imagine what had happened to the people taken since. "You can't just lock us up like animals! People can change! They can control their powers if you give them the chance!"
( )
Sylar listened to his friend's morality, knowing he was speaking first hand from the heart. He agreed and itched to vocally say so, but right now he trusted Peter to do the sweet talking. Until he was needed, at least.
"You should teach them! Not dispose of them like people's lives mean nothing!"
"We're protecting the world, Peter."
Possessive rage zipped along Sylar's nerves and he snapped. "No we're protecting the world!"
"'We'?!" Claire retched the word through gritted teeth. Deliberately. Coldly. "How dare you...?!" If looks could kill, Sylar was sure he'd be beyond cremated – for real this time. His offered patience sludged back into place like a slapped hand with no cookie. "Peter might've forgotten what a monster you are – but I never will! ...You can win him round with whatever new ability you've ripped from someone's skull, you can play the victim and get him to feel sorry for you... but you can never behis friend!"
Sylar felt his defences rise higher, and this time he wasn't sure he even wanted to hold back. So he was supposed to just listen to this after he was the one who'd been there, he was the one making sure Peter didn't work himself to death but she shared his blood and never called and that's fair...?
"I'm sorry..." He wiped his wet hair back from his face. "But where the hell have you been these past weeks...? Oh right, I forgot, "inspiring millions" right?" He laughed and slapped his hands to his thighs, but it was short lived, a far cry from his usual display of effortless dominance. His next words were launched across the platform like a javelin. "Just because you're connected by blood doesn't mean shit, princess. Even I know friends should be more than ignored until you can't think of anything better to do with your weekend."
This outburst was apparently so unexpected that the entire rig even seemed to halt in its descent. Peter gazed up at Sylar in complete surprise and Claire was struck speechless by this blasphemy, meanwhile Noah barked into the steam. "You shut your mouth!"
Sylar ignored this. He wouldn't even have been able to stop if he'd wanted to. No... This was years in the making... Oh, if only Miss Bennet knew the fire she was playing with...
( )
"I'll bet since you single-handedly wrecked the world, you haven't even spared one thought to the guy who's repeatedly saved your ungrateful hide. Am I wrong...?"
Claire stuttered, an aghast sound. It buzzed like a herd of angry bees, this rage unlike anything else she had ever known, a special batch reserved for this one human being who only lowered himself further in her eyes each time she saw him.
She loathed the blade to Sylar's voice, the aggressive stance, the cold, scornful eyes... she shouldn't have been taken so off guard by this as she was, but in fact, only now did Claire realise how strange it was to see this glimpse behind the usual cold smugness. She had rarely ever seen this man express raw emotion in her presence until now.
A combination of outrage, shock, despair and hatred whacked her in the face with pure numbness. She couldn't feel her body, or the tar-like air struggling to travel to her lungs. She couldn't think of what to say to prove his claims wrong, so angry she couldn't even word it! The only things that made sense right then were Peter, Sylar, and the gun hanging heavy in her hand...
( )
"I said don't speak to her!" Noah shouted, knuckles cramping around the trigger that could end this madness once and for all! He ought to do it! He was being paid to do it! There was so much he wanted to wring from the guy's throat first, but if this bastard didn't course correct now then Noah's choice would be made for him –
"Spare me your judgement, cheerleader. I know what I've done, I'm sorry for it, I can't change it, Peter knows this. At least I can accept my actions. You, on the other hand..."
BANG!
Noah hadn't even noticed he'd fired a shot until the bullet came flying back towards him. Sylar flinched and the tiny pellet whizzed an inch past Noah's temple in the next beat, riding on a wave of telekinetic force. The same force that winded the agent, lifted him from the ground and sent him hurtling backwards through the air in an imitation of the explosion downstairs...
He was weightless for an infinite moment. Then the world was dropped upon him.
( )
Thunder ricochetted around the chamber, louder than every sprung bolt so far. Peter jolted in fright, covering his head on instinct and preparing for scalding oil to come crashing down upon him...
But nothing did. The only sign that anything had changed was the look of pure regret plastered over Sylar's face, the thump at Peter's back and the pained yowl in Noah Bennet's voice that followed.
Then, for only a second, there was nothing.
"I – I didn't mean to -"
"DAD?!"
"Sylar!"
"Peter -"
BANG!
The second shot was even louder than the first. Breath catching, head spinning, Peter peeked about him at the damage while the dots slowly slotted into place for him to connect. The finished picture was a horrible display to behold. He couldn't possibly decide what was worse: Sylar, shields down, recoiling on the ground with blood running from his chest, or Claire towering before him with a smoking weapon in her hands... and her finger still on the trigger.
"Claire!" Peter's throat startled him with a cry. "Claire! NO!"
BANG! Another round went off, its echo spiralling away into the depths of the rig. Then another. And another. And another, until the roots of horror finally unwound themselves from Peter's bones and he threw himself between his niece and only friend.
Appalled, he gaped at the young woman who he'd never thought would have it in her. She looked possessed, transfigured, terrifyingly similar to the agent from Peter's night terrors, save for the emotion crumpling her face. He didn't want to believe it, but every one of his senses made reality impossible to deny.
"STOP!" He commanded, arms out open to either side. He couldn't ignore flashbacks to merely an hour or so earlier, when he had done almost exactly the same thing with Noah. Maybe the future could never truly be misdirected? Maybe there really was no escaping fate? But no! This was different! This was Claire! And Peter trusted her and loved her and could only go on faith that their freshly damaged bond was still strong enough for her to spare him. He couldn't imagine that she would shoot him... but ten seconds ago he couldn't imagine that she would shoot anyone. "Claire, please!"
The teenager's lips trembled so badly it was a wonder she could bark out even a single word. "Move!"
"I'm not going anywhere." Peter vowed, the air scarring his throat as if he'd swallowed razorblades. It was so hot, so heavy, like a physical weight he could carry in his arms. "Not until you put the gun down." It was all too much – the rig – the ticking countdown... His heart was strumming up quite a percussion band in accordance with his ribs, but at least Sylar was squirming in the corners of his vision. He'd be okay soon, thank god. Without The Haitian's power blocking then Sylar would be fine as long as nobody got to him before he had time to recover.
Or as long as the rig didn't combust with them all trapped inside.
"Peter...!" Claire sobbed through gritted teeth. "He – he deserves it! He took everyone from me – Jackie! Meredith! Nathan! ...You...!"
If it was possible, the mosaic of Peter's heart fractured further. He shook his head earnestly, hair swinging. "No, but I'm right here!" He insisted, trying to stay calm, trying to stay strong when she needed him to be. "That doesn't have to change. Okay? Me and Sylar doesn't have to change anything." Peter could tell he'd slipped up when Claire's bottom lip pouted further. Shit. As a desperate means to repent, he placed a hand over his bleeding heart and bore directly into tear-filled, green orbs. "Please, Claire. This isn't you. You're not a killer. I promise I'll explain it all later... But we need to find a way out of here before it's too late, and we can work together. If you let us. ...Alright?"
Perhaps it was the effects of the other two contributors having been taken out the equation, but this time it really felt like Peter had gotten through to her on a level so far untapped. He waited with baited breath, his eyes catching the shaking of Claire's hand and the fresh tears glimmering in her eyes. Suddenly she was fifteen years old again in Kirby Plaza, reluctant to shoot him, Peter, who was still her hero, and they were going to work together to save the world... It could be that way again. She was so close to giving in...
"Don't listen to him, Claire Bear!"
( )
Noah limped his way over, more determined than ever. He winced at the fresh knock to his head and already damaged body, but would never let a little thing like pain get in the way of helping his daughter.
The gunshots were still echoing around his ears, loud enough to have roused him. The instinctive (and counteractive, yes) fear that his little girl had been injured by the shots was more than enough incentive to kick his body into consciousness. It wasn't pleasant to see Claire midway through a stand off, but it seemed she'd handled herself brilliantly in his brief absence.
She glanced over her shoulder as he approached. "Dad! Are you okay?"
Noah regretted nodding his pounding head the moment he did it. "He's not your uncle anymore, Claire. He's a terrorist. Don't let him make you doubt yourself." The middle aged man panted, stepping up to lift the burden from Claire's shoulders. She may have held up impressively well (if Sylar's bloody, fallen state meant anything) but Noah could tell he'd woken just in time to stop Peter from winning her over.
The man in question seemed to fade in transparency at his near victory being rescinded. He opened his mouth, no doubt to try talking Noah round again, but the agent lifted a hand to stop him. "It won't make a difference, Peter. It's over." Noah winced and spat blood to the grate beneath his boots. "You've lost. Come with us – your people, and I might be able to fix you a deal. But you have to let us take Sylar. Now. Or you give me no choice."
The youngest Petrelli heaved in an unsteady breath, held it... then let it out, shaking his head. The sorrow in his expression was enough to warrant no words.
Noah didn't want to do it. He'd hoped against it through the entire exchange. But now there really was no other feasible option. Peter was clearly well beyond the point of no return, the clock was almost at zero and the sand was running thin, so Noah raised his weapon once again and aimed it over the fallen murderer's heart, this time with the intention of using it.
Claire inhaled sharply at his side but Noah shushed her, too intent on the bullseye before his narrowing vision.
"Don't!" Luckily Noah's reactions were dulled by his injuries, otherwise he would have squeezed the trigger at the wrong man. Peter appeared where he hadn't been a moment before, blocking the bullet's trajectory.
"I'm only going to say this once, Peter: move."
"No." The young man declared, defiantly holding his ground even as his voice threatened to waver. He glared down the barrel of Noah's gun and straight through his horn-rimmed glasses, sustaining eye contact without flinching. "No." Peter repeated, lowering his voice and brow into a serious, harsh line...
( )
Scalding air nipped at Sylar's wounds. It burned to feel such heat flowing past raw skin and through his blood. Vaguely he wondered if this was why his regeneration was taking longer to revive him than usual, because it had to heal the burns before the holes could close and it could never quite get there fast enough...
In a way it was a relief, aside from the heated ground biting into his back and hot claws further ripping his torn flesh into ribbons. To just... lie here, so simply... it was nice not to have to do or think about much. Caught between life and death while his body fought against the tide to save him, Sylar didn't even have to breathe much of the metallic-tasting air. It was almost like a time out. From what, though... he couldn't recall.
He was aware of the pain. Just not where it had come from. Just as well his attacker didn't know where his kill spot was. Sylar wanted to smirk at his secret, the cleverest of all secrets ever made. No one else knew. Not even Peter.
Oh. Peter. Oh yeah, he was here too. Of course he was here, Peter was always here... Sylar suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be helping with something. Not what, though. He tried to focus his hearing, but either his ears were broken or it was too loud to make sense of much... loud. It was definitely the loudness. There was banging coming from nearby...
Ah, yes. Sylar remembered. He was supposed to help Peter with the wall for the millionth time, so they could save Emma and the carnival and blah blah blah and then they'd be free... Really (and this was another secret, one nobody else knew), Sylar didn't want to break the wall down. He didn't want to go back to that world and have to separate and be hated by other people again. It was better in here. Welcome.
Faintly, he heard a voice... definitely Peter's voice, he'd know it anywhere... but it didn't sound too happy. Oops. Sylar supposed he really should help, after all. Peter did deserve his input after everything else he'd put up with... and who's to say it would work anyway? The bricks had held fast for five years already, maybe they'd never fall...
It was with a little reluctance that he drew his efforts tightly around his body in an attempt to wake up. More pain flushed through him and his regeneration worked faster, swarming him with biting pins and needles stitching him back together. Sylar groaned at the sensation, then groaned again when he recognised his surroundings and everything came flooding back to him. The rig. The imposter. Noah and Claire... Peter. See? This was exactly why the dream city was better than real life...
The next wave of feeling wasn't physical. It was icy fear that doused over Sylar like a bucket of cold water. From down on his back the chamber looked even taller; the steam attacked his healing bullet wounds, two steps forward one step back; and the metal grate below him just about seared away his flesh where it touched.
Hissing in pain, Sylar blinked groggy eyes to behold the scene playing out without him. He still couldn't hear much, couldn't make sense of more than his own screaming ailments, Noah Bennet pointing a gun in his direction... and Peter Petrelli shielding him from harm's way. Again. Of course he was.
Adoration fought to flock to the surface, but panic won out in the end. Sure, Sylar might not have been able to interpret his current surroundings properly, but he sure as hell remembered Peter shot and bleeding as he fell through the sky after doing this exact same thing earlier today. Fucking idiot.
"P-Peter... don't! You can't heal..." He wheezed, lips numb and voice like gravel swirled in a glass. He caught Peter's acknowledgement, but still the little man didn't budge. So Sylar used the railing of the platform to haul himself to his feet, painfully leaving behind bits of his palms on every bar. He wasn't about to just sit here and –
The world rocked with a monstrous groan and Sylar's legs gave way beneath him, kicking him back down to square one. He was recovering, yeah, but surely it wasn't bad enough to affect his entire perception of balance...? Which meant that rumble was the rig disintegrating further. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
This time Sylar managed to pull himself onto his knees, his hearing phasing in and out for random clips of heated conversation. He probably should've been doing a better job at backing Peter up, he suddenly realised, when the guy's urgent voice reached him again.
"He's not the same person who did all those things, alright? I'm telling you! He only wants to help."
Then another voice – Bennet's. "Why would he ever want to do that? What's in it for him?" An unpleasant sensation glooped through Sylar's veins and he couldn't not defend himself.
"I'm different now – I've repented -" Sylar repeated angrily, sick to death (again) of having to plead his case to a sea of deaf spectators happy to watch him drown.
"Sylar -" Peter again. Fine. Sylar wasn't finished, but if Peter wanted to handle the talking then that was probably for the best. Instead, Sylar focused all his efforts on getting his wobbly legs to accommodate his weight while trying to preserve the flesh on his hands.
The showdown tuned in with more focus than ever, and Sylar braced himself and turned around to face it.
"I did trust you! But you choose him...?!"
Claire was talking again – correction: whining. Her previous verbal attack was still smarting more than the shots she'd impaled in Sylar's chest. Speaking of... he closed his eyes and tensed his muscles, riding out the last dregs of steam induced cauterising before his gaping wounds finally sealed shut.
Shaken but revitalised, Sylar cast his eyes around the setting with restored definition. Claire was still crying, Noah was still armed and Peter was still valiantly trying to guard him. At once that same desperation to protect his friend roared to life anew. Now that Sylar was alive and well again, he wasted no time in striding across the unsteady platform to pull Peter back and throw every gun in the vicinity clean over the railing because he wasn't just going to do nothing while Claire hated him and Noah didn't believe him and Peter was going to get hurt for him and their surroundings fell further to pieces with each passing second!
Or that was the plan, anyway.
( )
The place was so unbearably hot, so loud, tumbling down around them all like a house of cards and choking Peter with mottled, claustrophobic fingers. Caught between staring down both the teenager and her adoptive father at once, swept up in the midst of it all, he didn't mean to let his guard down. He didn't mean to lose sight of the most dangerous assailant, even for just one second.
Without warning this time, Noah Bennet dodged around him and set off a series of ear-splitting, echoing shots.
"Noah!" All at once Peter leapt at him, Claire flinched and Sylar yelled again, and then suddenly the air was knocked out of the empath's body. He felt himself crash to the ground, scattering broken pipes and scraps of machinery everywhere as a searing gash of pain erupted through his torso.
He cried out, a reverberating yell, and clutched at his side. The grate below was burning to touch and agony locked brakes into Peter's bones, stunning him. He looked up when he heard Sylar's gasp accompany three more gunshots. No... Peter watched in horrified silence, unable to make a coherent sound as the man he had just failed to protect twice toppled backwards over the railing and dropped to the next level far below. Metal rang out thickly as a body hit the grate.
"Dad?! You – you just...! Peter!"
"I did what I had to, Claire Bear: both of these men are extremely dangerous and this place is about to blow! We don't have much time..."
Peter's senses clouded like the steam had infected his very core. He heard the heated exchange between father and daughter, then the loud ringing of two pairs of feet – one determined, one ushered along behind – as they hurried down the stairs to reach his fallen comrade. Then he was left crumpled on the ground. Wounded. Hurting. Alone.
Fuck! The pain... Cautiously, Peter felt for the site of his wound with shaking fingers. It was painful enough to shift his weight that Peter had guessed the damage even before stroking over the unbroken but protruding skin. A broken rib. Maybe two. Must've been from the fall. It was less than ideal, but at the very least it wasn't another bullet... and it didn't feel fatal.
White-hot pain continued to rip at him with every ragged breath, his vision was beginning to blur around the edges and he knew he was vulnerable and open and unable to protect himself in this state. But he also knew that he wasn't the endangered target. Clutching at the mesh grate below him with sticky, sweaty hands, Peter gasped for air that burned down his throat and heaved himself over to the edge of the platform with all the waning strength he possessed. Noah and Claire's footsteps faded as he grew further behind and ever closer to losing this fight.
No way... not after getting this far... this wasn't how it was supposed to end! It couldn't be! They were supposed to fix things by coming back here – not make everything so much worse... Grunting and groaning at the venom that seared his every movement, Peter grit his teeth and slid his body through the gap at the bottom of the railing, free-falling the distance below to Sylar.
Hot clouds of gas and steam engulfed him as he fell, the ground came racing up to meet him and Peter only just managed to catch himself at the last second with flight. He clumsily eased his landing as he reached the ground beside Sylar, scrambling to check the status of his friend. Blood flowed out of multiple holes on the other man's chest, his eyes were closed and he was sprawled out loosely, unconscious but still breathing. Barely.
Now all he needed to do was wake up before anyone got here! Which would have been a much simpler ask if Peter couldn't hear his friends – no, his assailants – approaching. His chest hurt from more than a broken rib and his eyes watered from more than just pain. That was twice now! Twice in one day, over two different timelines, that Noah Bennet (someone Peter had at least regarded as an ally, if not extended family) had almost killed him on purpose! Of course it had hurt the first time, but twice was a lot harder to forgive.
Did his history with Noah now mean nothing to the man? Helping out with that kid Jeremy? The carnival compass? Saving Claire's life way back at the beginning, even...?! Everything they'd been though together – including covering up Nathan's death for fuck's sake! – suddenly didn't matter just because Noah didn't approve of the company Peter chose to keep...?
The footsteps grew in volume, louder than ever, and two rippling shadows bled through the fog, weapons drawn. "Peter! Don't do it! I'm warning you – I will kill you!"
Blinking bleary eyes, Peter tried both not to collapse and to come up with an escape plan at the same time. He should have been prepared, or had some sort of backup plan if saving the rig didn't work... but of course he didn't. Because Peter never did the smart thing – Sylarhad that covered for both of them, but now he was dying and Peter couldn't protect him with anything from his limited arsenal: a broken rib, a broken heart, a broken ability that only gifted him one power at a time...
Another bang! shot out again, a pipe, a bullet or the entire rig itself, Peter couldn't be sure. All that mattered was that everything around him was going up in flames and he had to do something! So, desperate, suffocating and fighting for much more than just his own life, he pressed a hand to Sylar's leaking chest, pulled out the first ability that rushed up to meet him and used it without thinking.
Fire.
A spark of Elle Bishop's electricity flew from Peter's fingers and ignited in the air with a blinding flash. Flames whirled through the space and grumbled at their iron restraints, swooping along the length of the chamber at an uncontrollable pace, free and furious and growing to fit their cage at long last.
Peter gasped, aghast at what he'd done. There was no taking it back and nothing he could do to stop it. The only choice was to get the hell away as soon as possible. He stared, eyes wide like saucers, at the effects of his destruction, until a nasty thought caught his attention and he paled.
"Noah! Claire!" Both calls were poor from lack of oxygen and a stabbed lung. It might have been footsteps continuing to flurry at the other side of the wall of fire, but Peter wouldn't be able to move on until he knew for sure. "Claire?!"
"Peter!"
He tried to reply, but cried out at the razor sharp poker of his rib twisting in his side.
( )
"...Peter?!" Claire shouted again, barely audible over the roaring flames that she hardly noticed anymore. She was terrified – terrified for the state of her uncle – her friend, her hero – until she suddenly remembered everything she'd just witnessed. It pained her as though it was the first time over again... but, even after everything... she still couldn't bear it if Peter was –
"There!" Noah pointed, shielding his face from the heat. Claire scanned the glimpses beyond the flames, her heart stuttering when she caught sight of Peter: alive, in one piece and minus any visible third degree burns. She couldn't decide if she was more furious or distraught, probably a mix between the two (and almost every other emotion known to man), but the only thing that mattered in that second was that he was okay...
….Only... that meant Sylar would be too... And that, however, was not okay.
"I'll get them -" She announced, taking her first stride towards the deadly fire.
"No!" Noah dragged her back by the arm, bending so their faces were level. "No. I'm not letting you out of my sight! You hear me?"
"But they'll get away!"
"Let them! ...It won't be the first time." Noah sighed, resigned to his fate. "It's too dangerous, Claire."
"Dad, it's only fire...?" The ex-cheerleader scanned her father's soot-covered face, confused. He'd already just seen her walk through flames and survive...
"It's not the fire I'm worried about."
His hands tightened on her arms, pleading. Noah rarely pleaded. It reminded Claire painfully of being buried underground with him in a carnival trailer, when he'd begged her to hide once abilities were revealed to the world... a dying wish that she had later disregarded. Last time it had been the right thing to do, to not heed his request. Her worldwide fans would agree with that. If she wanted to, Claire knew that this time she could stay until the rig finally hit the bottom of the ocean. She could chase Peter and Sylar through a tunnel of pure fire if need be! She didn't want to leave the mission incomplete (her familial relationships even more so) and this didn't have to be the end of it... but Noah couldn't stay here any longer. The oxygen was drying up in the air – within minutes he would suffocate. And in that rare moment, her father was more important to Claire Bennet than her own desires.
Slowly, she nodded her head. "...Okay." She caved. "Let's go."
Grudgingly, both Bennets started back the way they'd come. Claire peeked over her shoulder to their retreating charges, set loose at just a few steps out of reach. Peter was back there. He was hurt. She didn't want to leave him behind in this collapsing deathtrap after everything he'd ever done to save her... She didn't know how to feel. But she also didn't stop Noah from dragging her away.
( )
Peter watched the duo leave with a conflicted mass weighing deep inside. At its simplest level: at least they would be safer away from this chamber.
If only he could say the same for himself and Sylar. The man's healing should've been about complete by now, so as long as they ran as fast as possible they still had a chance and could grab any stragglers they found along the way! Not that it was ever going to be easy, though.
Severely freaking out, hindered by his ribs and painful tears that kept brimming but never falling, Peter crawled over his friend's still form. "Sylar..." He husked, beyond the capability of shouting. The man didn't rouse at his name, or at being shaken by the shoulder. He only squirmed a little after Peter held and slapped his cheeks. "Sylar?"
Flames roared overhead and at every side, and the vast height of the chamber was now concealed by a thick, black umbrella of smoke. The heat was practically unbearable now, Peter's skin felt like it was either on fire or peeling away in such temperature. Knowing that he would never be able to drag an unconscious man out of here, he patted Sylar's face again desperately, watching the guy's eyelids flutter as he woke.
( )
Hadn't he just been here five minutes ago? Sylar was sure this state felt far too familiar. He re-lived the regathering of his hearing, his touch, his sense of pain with a distinct sense of deja vu.
Cracking open one eye brought him face to face with Peter. Oh, hi. Sylar instinctively felt his lips twitch in greeting, like he was just waking up from a long nap. …But Peter didn't look too good. He was lit by a flickering golden light that highlighted his long hair and a nasty bruise tarnishing his face. Sylar hoped not, but he assumed it must've been his doing. It always was, right?
"Mmpf... S'ry..." He make an inarticulate sound. Re-learning a childish mistake, he struggled to lift his lead-like arm to prod the bruise, as if that would make it all better. Peter wasn't staying still long enough though, and Sylar wanted to became annoyed at him for that. But the young man looked panicked, something that held such irritation at bay.
Peter was touching him, Sylar suddenly noticed, his eyes shining and lips moving very fast. The words were beyond comprehension, but Sylar wanted to chase them, curiosity hooking onto the watchmaker and pulling him from the dark pit like a lifeline from the sea...
( )
"Get up! C'mon, get up!" Peter repeated, his eyes flicking between Sylar's refocusing ones and the disappearing bullet holes in his chest.
He was healing, Peter was relieved to see. He just wasn't sure it was working fast enough. By now the chamber was a lightening mix of light and fire and blurry clouds that erupted into flame like fireworks up high.
"Wake up...! Please!" He urged, peeking again at the progress of the last wound. Almost there...
"Ouch." Sylar moaned flatly. Peter's spirits soared and he returned to his friend's face, scared to smile just yet in case he was too soon. The watchmaker frowned his great brows and grimaced, coming to. "I'm sick..." Peter worried again instantly. "...So sick..."
"No, you're not! You're fine! You're all healed!" He promised, pushing sweaty hair off Sylar's face to let him see better.
"...Sick... of being shot..." Sylar puffed. "Next time... we take out the guns... Deal?"
Despite himself, Peter actually laughed. Then regretted it when his ribcage constricted and cut off his airflow. "D-deal." Wincing, he tried his best to help the other man to his feet.
"Woah... What happened here?!" Sylar demanded, taking in the live fire for the first time.
( )
Cringing, Peter led them through the closest door and into a further, dark tunnel. "It was an accident..." The pair both closed the door over behind them as far as it would go. It should hold... for about a minute. Maybe less. After only a second's hesitation, they took their first step deeper into the unknown.
"Wait -" Sylar grabbed for Peter's hand, the skin there scarlet and tender. Holy hell... he really was obtuse sometimes. "You won't make it out unless you can heal, Peter!" Sylar scolded his friend and squeezed his fingers. He wouldn't take another step until he was sure... Of course Petrelli would suffer his pain rather than take the simple alternative!
Peter cried and winced at the friction against his raw skin, but Sylar didn't let go. He deliberately watched the other man concentrate, watched the golden light make way for untouched, healthy skin, the man's stance return to normal and the horrible bruise finally disappear from his face like it had never happened. There was no other sensation like knowing whatever transpired next, no matter how long or painful, they'd both at least make it out the other side alive. Be that in one piece or many.
This corridor was very similar to the ones they'd taken on the way in: it appeared empty, of both people and flames, but flickering orange light in the distance wasn't encouraging. The noise of the rig's descent was louder in this compressed space, and a gust of hot air slapped their faces from the far end. There was nothing else to do but go on. So they did.
"I don't know the way out!" Peter shouted over the whistling wind. He looked very small suddenly, more so than normal, and Sylar wished he could ease the pain twisting through him like a hurricane. True, he could say "I bet everyone made it out" or "they'd want us to escape"... but it wouldn't fool anyone.
"Neither do I!" Sylar confessed. "We just have to keep going up!"
Shivering in the heat, running in the dark, coated in a glittering film of sweat, both men read the other's sorrow from his face. It wasn't really giving up. It wasn't throwing in the towel. There was nothing more they could do here, they'd reached maximum potential. It still felt like shit though, to admit this was the end by actively trying to escape.
Within thirty sprinted paces, the ground shifted under their feet. The walls shook with another echo of melting metal and the men froze. They listened as the sound rebounded into the distance like whale song in the depths of the ocean, ringing right through their very cores.
They waited, just listening, waiting, listening, blood throbbing in their heads and losing feeling from their legs. That last shake... it felt... wrong. Somehow just wrong. Sylar could sense it with the instincts of a natural born hunter.
"What is it?" Peter whispered, his voice shaking at the end.
Deep, dark eyes scoured the shadows up ahead. "...I don't -"
The corridor lurched with a spine chilling screech! A sound like growing applause announced springs and bolts ripping from the walls towards the two men, and then a million snakes hissed from either side as black sprays of liquid, sticky and wet, consumed every free particle of air.
"RUN!"
( )
Sylar yelled, and Peter tried to comply. He willed himself onwards but the sudden onslaught of noise and sensation knocked him dumb: a pipe split next to his face, drenching him in the dark, unknown substance before he even knew what was happening. Fuck, it burned! It stuck to his eyeballs and clogged up his nose and throat, but thankfully he didn't need to breathe to survive. Coughing and choking and wiping at his eyes in vain, Peter lost his voice, lost all sense of direction or even simple common sense.
Until a familiar hand gripped the front of his t-shirt. "I got you!" The hand dragged him away, leading him blind through the constant, shaking, swirling, slippery blackness of the never-ending tunnel. "Just stay close to me!"
He ran as fast as he could but Sylar was always faster on longer legs, somehow he either knew where he was going or was incredibly lucky not to lead them into any walls, but Peter didn't care enough to question it. He only trusted Sylar to guide him, this evolved creature built for survival the way he himself had never been, and ran for miles through what felt like cracking glass tubes that fell away from under him.
( )
It was a game of cat and mouse without the mouse. It was a hunt, a test, and luckily Sylar excelled at all of the above. That's all this was: same structure, different variables. They were going to be fine, they were going to make it, it was all about strategy...
Sylar repeated this mantra to himself as he ran, dragging Peter along like a child who couldn't keep up. It wasn't very dignified but it was going to have to do – the poor guy could barely catch a break, but there was nowhere in here for him to stop and get a proper clean breath even if they'd had time to try.
Sylar led them left and right, this way and that, splashing through growing, muddy puddles and jumping over debris in any direction they could use to climb to a higher level. The staircases were difficult for Peter but he managed, to his credit, and the temperature only increased the higher up the tower they rose. It was impossible, an uphill battle, but if someone was destined to make it, it couldn't possibly have been anyone other than these two immortal men.
( )
Peter couldn't recall ever being as terrified in his life. Not when waking without any memories or sense of self in a dark shipping container; not when finding himself packed off to be tested on by a fatal virus; not even when he'd first caught himself growing to like Sylar. Normally adrenaline would numb the fear about now, but he had failed his mission, broken his niece, was paralysed in every function but touch and unable to find his way out of a doomed vessel... it might have been the most vulnerable Peter had ever been.
It was beyond his control by this point anyway. But still he wouldn't stop fighting.
The two figures left trails in the smoke as they ran, smearing dust in their wake. They ducked and recoiled from falling debris that dropped like cannonballs of deadly iron heat. The world flashed red behind Peter's eyelids as he sprinted and hot claws sliced into his skin. Smoke smothered him more than once, clinging to the tar-like substance inside his throat and lungs like feathers to glue, but Claire's ability never once abandoned him, thank god. And neither did Sylar.
( )( )( )
To Noah's relief, the pilot had already started up the helicopter by the time they got there.
He bundled Claire inside first before climbing in himself, to the displeasure of his many cuts and bruises. The rig was flaming and crumbling at his back, far beyond salvation now. Noah hesitated for a moment at the door, looking over the burning burial ground for his team and whoever else had lost their lives here today.
Maybe if he'd got here a few minutes sooner...?
Heaving a great sigh, Noah tugged himself into the body of the vessel and signalled the pilot to take off. The propellers whipped dully overhead even after Noah sealed the door, but they weren't quite enough to mask the sounds of destruction fading away below.
( )
At long last, the thousandth door burst open onto an outside staircase. Sylar instinctively wanted to suck in a deep breath, but it was almost as smoky out here as it was inside. In fact, everywhere he looked he was met with smoke, fire and more smoke, rising into the sky like a great mushroom cloud that cast the darkest night over mid afternoon.
...It was so much worse than Sylar had been expecting. The damage was more extensive than he'd guessed it would be, and he didn't want to imagine how much of it had unfurled while they'd been wasting time trying not to hurt Daddy and Baby Bennet's feelings...
Swallowing away the thought, he guided Peter to the banister and the cleanest air he was likely to find in the vicinity.
( )
At once Peter could taste the difference out in the open. It was the sweetest antidote he'd been craving, still masked with bitter smoke but a million times better. Peter coughed and retched and heaved in as much air as he could to at least access his lungs, with the added helping hand of regeneration. He wiped at his healing eyes with his t-shirt before casting his gaze out over the expanse of the rig.
And instantly wishing he couldn't see again.
They were definitely up high, but the oil rig loomed mightily above them, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Everything was black, yellow or red, no in between, no compromise. Fire digested the iron skeleton with no mercy, attacking every possible angle like a virus. The thing was enormous, even bigger than it had felt while stumbling around lost inside it, and the worst part about it was... it looked almost exactly as it had done the first time Peter had been here.
Had he even made a difference at all? Had he helped in any way? Or had he just screwed everything up beyond repair, despite his best efforts, just like all his other failed attempts...?
He told himself he was only choking from recovering the use of his lungs, that his tear ducts were only helping clean his eyes. He had no excuse concerning his breaking heart.
"We can't stay here." Sylar spoke as gently as he could amongst roaring flames. Peter squeezed the banister too tightly, burning his hands yet again in an attempt to channel his emotions. It didn't work.
He nodded and followed the taller man back to the winding staircase, where they both climbed as high as it would take them. Fumbling through the smoke was barely an improvement to Peter's previous condition: he still could hardly breathe or see a thing besides his brave companion, never more than two steps ahead. That alone, however, made all the difference in the world.
( )
Finally the exhausted men tumbled out the top of the stairs, two tiny shadows against a ravenous backdrop of wildfire. Their path concluded on a large, open platform roughly three quarters the height of the rig's tallest spire, scattered with burning rubble and fallen debris raining from above. It was difficult to tell through the poor lighting and destruction, but Sylar was pretty sure this was as high as they could physically go.
Which meant it was a definitive dead end to this journey. A clean break with no further routes of procrastination.
Sylar staggered to the opposite end, overlooking the heart of the disaster like a king over his fallen kingdom. Was it strange that he actually didn't want to leave this doomed site...? Was that the normal reaction a hero should experience after failing in his mission? Like a captain should go down with the ship, it felt like cheating to fuck everything up so badly and then be allowed to fly away, unscathed.
Sylar cast an anxious glance over his shoulder. And at once he could tell that Peter was feeling the exact same things inside. Probably worse, actually, due to his hero complex... It was the spine tingling idea that this time Peter might actually go down with his ship unless he did something that snapped Sylar out of his heart and back into mind. Someone had to take control here.
( )
"Peter..."
Sylar's voice was snatched and crumpled up by the fire like a ball of paper in angry hands. Peter knew the meaning behind the call. He just didn't want to answer it.
Crackling light danced in large, sorrowful eyes, drinking in the details so that his nightmares could only regurgitate them a hundred times worse. Huge chunks missing from the walls like bites from an apple, right to the bone, the core exposed to the cruel elements; oil seeping from the rig like a blanket over the ocean, leaking for miles all around; a giant tornado stirring blackness into the sky like poison in a cauldron...
"Peter!"
A shudder rolled right through the empath. Again, he brushed off Sylar's intentions. Breathing shakily through his mouth, he still couldn't tear his gaze away from the hideous sight before him. Smoke. Fire. Mess. Sky. Sea. Pretty soon the helicopters and boats would be rolling in, a steady stream of emergency services that would scour the remains of the rig for hours to come... Just like last time. Because Peter had failed them.
Lastly, his gaze pinpointed many, identical shapes on the water. Escape pods! Thank god... Peter's eyes welled up again at the sight, and he just hoped that Jimmy and his friends had made it out this time. He hoped that everyone had – but by the looks of things, not all the pods had made it this far. Not enough.
A hand on his shoulder rooted Peter back to his immediate surroundings. He hadn't heard Sylar approach, but turned to devour a hopeless expression that perfectly mirrored his own. Sylar squeezed his fingers slightly. "There's nothing more we can do."
Peter didn't want to accept this, even though he knew it was true. It was as if his joints had rusted only to stop him acquiescing, but somehow he managed to communicate a nod of assent. Sylar let go and turned to face away, presenting his back for Peter to wrap his arms around from behind. The paramedic latched onto Sylar the way he'd used to do with Nathan, then felt the other man kick off from the platform and the telltale hook behind his navel that always accompanied flight.
Then there was nothing but clinging, hot air and suffocating, dark skies on all sides, and the remnants of their attempted rescue smouldering far below.
( )
The plumes of smoke had barely settled in the men's wake before parting again, this time to emit a fleeing helicopter brandishing an abstract, red-hued "R" on its body.
Inside, it was almost easy to forget where they were. Claire watched nothing but smoke dance and curl against the reinforced window, a natural screensaver that was as soothing as it was hypnotizing. All she could hear now were the propellers churning away outside, Noah conversing in tech-speak with the pilot, and her own conscience chipping like clay. Aside from the smoky stench, this could have been a million miles from the rig and she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
It was what she'd always imagined leaving a rock concert would feel like: sweat cooling on your skin, adrenaline receding after a great burst of the stuff, physically and emotionally drained after the exertion, head fuzzy after jumping too close to the speakers, and looking back, unsure if it had really happened or had all just been a crazy dream. Claire wondered if she should be feeling more... well, present. Instead, she felt light, fluffy, as if she was standing too far away at the other side of a curtain.
She could barely believe what had transpired back there. Noah's ruthlessness, Sylar's arrogance, Peter's betrayal... it was going to take a long time to crash over her properly.
When her father reoccupied his expensively covered seat next to her, Claire spoke for the first time since leaving the rig.
"...You were right, Dad." She sighed, her breathing functions now perfectly restored.
"About what?" Noah croaked then coughed, his lungs still slightly more affected.
Claire blinked slowly, as if resting her eyes. If the helicopter wasn't shaking in its flight she probably would have been leaning her forehead against the window. Even if just to avoid looking at Noah's face when she told him.
"...This isn't for me. I can't do it." She huffed again and shrugged loosely, dejectedly. "I guess I'm not cut out to be an agent after all..." If this is what it meant to work for the world's leading tech company, and if she had to face such ugly choices and feel this way after every mission... then Claire didn't want any part in it. She didn't want anything to do with Renautas.
At the time it had been less of a priority than Peter and Sylar, but Claire had been listening to Noah's justification of his actions. Of his new job. Which was exactly the same as his old one. The one he'd promised her he had no part in anymore. On a normal day she would have fallen out with him too, but the pain of Peter's treachery was still too raw to possibly burn another bridge right now. Today, she needed to know she was loved, and that there was still at least someone leftwho would do anything for her.
Losing Nathan, Gretchen and now Peter in such a short time made the world feel a hell of a lot colder than it used to be. Later, Claire intended to call Noah out on his lies for the millionth time. But for now, she needed him. Even if she didn't have to like him very much.
( )
Noah wouldn't pretend that he wasn't grateful to hear Claire's decision, even though he did wish she didn't have to have gone through so much to find it. If every mission from here on out was to have even a fraction of this one's sadistic strain, Noah doubted his blood pressure would hold up more than one week in the field with Claire at his side.
Maybe that desk job could come in handy, after all...?
He reached across and stroked the back of her head without saying a word. Kissed her temple to no reciprocation, not that he was looking for any. Anger and bruises on his ego were crippling him after that disaster of a mission, but more important than securing Peter and Sylar's capture was securing his daughter's safety. They could wait.
Noah settled back into his seat with a pounding skull and quite possibly the beginning of severe sunburn, but at least he was alive. At least Claire was alive. Nobody could say the same for the should-be-occupiers of the empty seats lining the walls. After his medical check up and the mission debrief he'd return to the issue at hand – the world's two most dangerous evos running free. Maybe assemble a team to investigate their insane claims about the rig, just to be thorough. But not today. Not now.
Mr Bennet was seconds away from transitioning from seasoned field agent who could withstand two possible skull fractures within half an hour, to middle-aged dad who could fall asleep in six seconds flat, when a strange noise came from behind him. A noise that made Noah oh-so-subtly reach for his gun.
( )
Claire jumped when Noah span and leaned over the back of his seat, weapon drawn. She startled in surprise at the exact same time as the stowaway trying to hide.
"...Hi...?"
The stranger smiled feebly, frightened but hopeful. His caught-in-the headlights look was enough cause for concern, but it wasn't until Claire recognised his dark coat and baseball cap that she actually connected the dots. This was the captive Sylar had let go. He wasn't a worker – he was a civilian... So what the hell was he doing here...?
Fresh indignation arose at once, but Noah had also realised this and beat her to the punch. She watched her father jab his gun further at the shaking man, who didn't even seem to consider putting up a fight of any kind.
"Don't hurt me!" He pleaded, hands up, still attempting to grin his way out of trouble.
Claire glanced between both men while the intruder's sentence was calculated and the agent's mind thumbed through this new, disconcerting information. She could practically hear Noah come to his decision when his lips curled up into a deliberate semi-circle: the same cold smile that never touched his eyes that she'd seen him use too many times before.
Even dusty and tired, Noah Bennet was still intimidating as he addressed the stowaway with a tone as smooth as silk. "Then you'd better tell me exactly what you're doing here..."
( )( )( )
Out here, water lapped quietly where the buoy broke the murky surface. It clinked and bobbed in the rise and swell of the ocean, no more than a peaceful onlooker to the distant trauma. The sun continued to struggle to filter through the smoky veil, even from this far away. It was almost peaceful, but fire and destruction echoed across the sea like sounds from the far end of a tunnel.
Once his feet hit the buoy, Peter held on for a second before disentangling his arms from Sylar. He didn't meet the man's prying eyes, not yet, and they both looked out silently at the sight before them. It could almost be a bonfire magically floating on the water, but Peter would swear he could hear screams and cries scratching after him.
There was way too much to think about at once. How many people had made it out? How many hadn't? What happened to Francis? Why would Angela go to such extremes just to split him apart from Sylar? Would Claire ever speak to him again? Had any of his words made Noah begin to question things...? Even just a little...? Peter also couldn't stop thinking about Renautas, and what Noah had said about "damage control". It was a nasty secret he hadn't wanted to uncover, but now that he had he couldn't possibly sit idly by and let people be rounded up like prisoners...! He just had no idea where to begin with the mess of it all.
His throat tightened when Sylar's fingers slipped around his wrist. A comfort. Understanding. Peter craved the contact, he craved more than just a sliver of relief, but he knew he didn't deserve it. He just couldn't bring himself to shake Sylar off.
( )
Peter's pulse was hammering hard below his skin, a contrast to Sylar's sad heartbeat. So this was what it felt like to lose on other people's behalf. Unlike his friend, Sylar could appreciate that the outcome had certainly improved this go around, but his perfectionism made it impossible to be satisfied with less than 100% success.
It could have gone so much better. It could also have gone worse. Not much, but the potential was there all the same. What a disastrous attempt to be a hero. It insulted Sylar to realise that he'd failed. That he had possibly tainted the mission with his mere inclusion. Didn't the good guys always win? The heroes usually managed to save the day at the last second and dance off back to their little lives with a trophy for their mantle and a gold star for their conscience! That was how it went, right? ...Then why not this time? Was it his fault...?
"It's all my fault." The watchmaker was pulled deeply from his thoughts when Peter finally spoke. "You were right." He said quietly, voice thick. "I just made everything worse by coming back here. I'm... I'm sorry I forced you to come along."
Sylar looked down sadly upon his still sooty and oil-smeared companion. "You didn't force me to do anything, Peter."
The smaller man shook his head, hiding his face. "We didn't even clear your name..."
This, Sylar wouldn't have. He cut off that line of thought at the source before it could infect the self destructive empath along with everything else. "We just saved those people. That's more important than my reputation." With his free hand he gestured to the tiny specks of the escape pods in the distance. This was true. It was more important – of course it was – but Sylar still wasn't exactly happy at what had gone down with Noah and Claire. It wouldn't be the first time he was left unsatisfied with them, though.
( )
"Besides," Sylar continued, the hint of a smile injecting into his voice. "It's not like I'm not used to being seen as the bad guy."
Peter picked his gaze up from his ruined boots to see, true enough, one corner of Sylar's lips trying to lift. It wasn't enough to be believable. He didn't have to be so gracious – he should be allowed to kick and swear at the injustice of it all but no... there was Sylar showcasing the modest strength that nobody else believed he possessed. Peter wanted to accept the offered rationale, but it was so unfair he would scream if he were a less self-conscious man.
"But you saved them." He husked, frowning. "And nobody even knows."
"That's not true." Sylar's hand was warm, his eyes even more so. "Somebody knows." This time he managed a grateful smile, one Peter returned to the best of his ability. He was touched by this sentiment, but it still wasn't as much as Sylar should be receiving. He should have just earned himself so much more than the recognition of one person who had already gifted it.
"I'm sorry." Peter whispered, sorry that after all Sylar's effort to prove himself, it wasn't even going to make the slightest bit of difference. He shuffled closer to Sylar, who squeezed Peter's wrist in acceptance of his condolences.
"So am I."
They turned back to look out upon the bleeding ocean once again, standing close enough to feel each other breathe. Joined at the hands, they said their silent goodbyes to the point where history had been overwritten. The buoy clinked and clanked as it swayed and velvety blackness crept ever closer on the tide. Peter really wasn't looking forward to having to explain everything to Hiro so they could get back to the present...
What is it they say? Be careful what you wish for? The taunt floated around Peter's skull, mocking him. He had wanted to kick start his life after weeks on hiatus, but now there was no going back to even a pretend "normal life". No time to rest or change their minds. It was just as well both men had experience in this area.
"We can't go home." Sylar sighed. They watched the words drift away over the water.
The first tendrils of oil stroked the base of the buoy and flames continued to claw higher and higher into the sky, illuminating the horizon. The deed was done, this was already turning into the aftermath. And the two time travellers had more than overstayed their welcome.
Peter's brows twitched as the thought sparked. "...I might know a place."
( )( )( )
A bell tinkled above the door. The sound travelled through low conversations, shuffling footsteps and voices from a nearby TV, all the way to a secluded table in the back corner of the restaurant.
Angela Petrelli didn't turn around. She daintily sipped from her tiny cup and lifted chopsticks to her lips, savouring the acquired taste of raw fish. She didn't need to look to know he was approaching, so instead she waited, hiding her impatience when the same news broadcast repeated for the third time in twenty minutes.
"...yesterday afternoon. Some witnesses say the evos were terrorists, while others claim they saved dozens of lives. Officials are still to confirm the source of the explosion, with most opinions leaning towards an evo rights group. The unidentified duo have yet to be apprehended..."
Mrs Petrelli poured herself a fresh drink, pinkie raised.
"You're losing your touch, Angela."
She didn't look up until Noah Bennet was sitting opposite her at the table. "It was supposed to be discreet." Thinking of the worthless "freelancer" she'd hired for the job, she smoothly added "I won't make the same mistake again." And took another sip of tea.
The man looked a state: peppered in bruises and cuts and very noticeably wearing his backup pair of glasses. He was not amused. "You set me up." He said darkly, his jaw jutting defensively. "I almost died yesterday. I only wish I could be as optimistic about my team."
"An unforeseen complication. If you had done as I asked and waited until afterwards to confront Sylar, you would have been unharmed." Angela poured some tea into a second cup for Noah, perhaps as an acting apology, but he didn't touch it.
( )
He had to hand it to her. Not many women could have masterminded the world's latest crisis then sit here so unfazed in a bright, airy restaurant surrounded by oriental decorations and bamboo sticks like nothing had happened. She made cold-hearted look effortless.
"Did you hear they're in talks of re-writing the Registration Act? Making it compulsory? That will be months of my work wasted, not to mention how many million people with you to thank for it." Noah said it casually, as if this wasn't history in the making.
He might have been wrong, but for a second he thought Mrs Petrelli looked conflicted at this news. Either that, or she choked on a piece of sushi. "I didn't ask you here for small talk." She changed the subject, delicately fishing around the food tray with her chopsticks.
"No..." Noah concurred, giving in and stretching for his tea. "You asked me here to tell me why you framed Sylar." He took a sip. Revolting. He peered at her over his glasses. "...Am I right?"
The Kojin Sushi staff worked quietly in the open kitchen and around the floor, nobody paid any notice to the older man and woman innocently sharing lunch in the corner. Nobody knew that the current news broadcast was her fault, or that he was a survivor of it. Nobody knew that Noah had been awake all night since interrogating Francis Culp, that he hadn't slept a wink for tossing and turning, unable to shake his exchange with Peter and Sylar from his conscience.
"Why did you hire Culp to play dress up and kill hundreds of people? What could possibly make you go to such lengths? And don't tell me you did it just because you don't approve of Peter's new BFF." It was difficult to appear impartial, but Noah was well trained in the art.
He ground his teeth while Angela played for time, finishing her current mouthful and washing it down with tea before refilling her cup yet again. Finally, she inhaled a deep breath and met Noah's eyes with those piercing orbs of hers.
"Yes. I lied. I hate to say it, but Sylar is innocent. Of that crime, anyway."
"That would have been good to know yesterday..." Noah grumbled. Leaning forward on his elbows, he waited for any scrap of information that could appease him. "Then why was he there?"
"He wasn't supposed to be." Angela's lips thinned. "That wasn't part of my plan, but something changed along the way. I can't tell you what, but I can assure you than he wasn't responsible for this... awful tragedy." She downed another mouthful of tea.
( )
Noah's eyes narrowed in question behind his new glasses. Angela licked her lips, bracing herself to break her silence in the most composed manner possible.
"You're right. I wanted to get Sylar away from my son. But it comes down to so much more than Peter's obsession with Nathan's killer." That was another story for another time. The rage, the heartbreak, the hopelessness to do anything about it because unfortunately Angela was cursed with the insight to know Peter and Sylar's unprecedented bond was genuine.
"I'm listening."
Even now, weeks later, the memories ran chills down Angela's spine. "...I had a vision about them. One of my dreams." She recalled the sickly images that her words rebirthed, too horrible to explain in full. "Earth destroyed, children burning, oceans wiping out cities..." Unable to suppress it any longer she shivered, hoping Noah wouldn't notice. "Everything, everyone...gone." Her eyes slid closed. "...Dead. Except for them."
The sounds from all sides were of a quaint little restaurant, the scents of tea and fish. But the pictures that Angela couldn't un-see were all of her precious baby boy and Nathan's murderer: arms stretched up to beckon raining fire; standing invincible throughout heat waves that crisped the ground around them; summoning water to drown a thousand lives...
Noah cleared his throat and Angela opened her eyes to a serious frown. "Are you saying they'll make this happen? That doesn't sound like any ability I've encountered."
"It's not like any you've encountered." Angela sighed and sat up straighter in her chair. "As a pair, they are unlimited don't you see? They will be far too powerful, far too unstoppable if we let them be together: Sylar's intuition, Peter's empathy, they could share every ability on Earth if they wanted. They're not aware of it yet, of course, but the need for power is all consuming. You've seen it... one wrong thought is all it takes. Nobody will be able to challenge them. Nobody will be able to stop them." She faded off, pressing her fingers to her eyelids light enough not to disturb her eyeshadow. This weakness was displayed only for a second. "...It's the way the world ends, Noah."
( )
Noah's face remained frozen as the seconds ticked on. An outsider might think he had gone blank inside, but really his mind was spinning a mile a minute. If this was true... if she was right... then this hunt had suddenly become so much bigger than a personal rivalry between enemies.
"So the rig...?" He drawled slowly, the words breaking over him as the thoughts did. "You wanted to poison the well...?"
Angela nodded as if Noah had taken forever to get to this point. She knocked back her tea again but this time the pot was empty when she reached for another refill. So instead she busied herself with the strips of fish neatly presented on the wooden board in front of her. "I knew Peter would never listen to reason. Lord knows I love that boy but you know what he's like: any whiff of a charity case and he loses his mind..." She shook her head at the ludicrousness of it. Her tongue curled around the end of her chopsticks and she chewed very quickly, almost manically.
That was quite the understatement. Once again Noah relived the young man's face and pleas, his stance between a gun and Sylar, that insane loyalty... It hurt to realise that their claimed innocence had been true the whole time.
"No..." Angela swallowed and picked at her food, looking past Noah at something very far away. "No, I knew that doubt from within was much more likely to do the job than telling a Petrelli he can't have what he's set his heart on." She sniffed, an inappropriate glint of pride hiding on her face. Then she shrugged, waving her chopsticks in the air as an afterthought. "Of course the deaths were unfortunate, but what are a few hundred compared to seven billion?"
Noah had always been an objective man, morally grey and able to see around angles that most people would be repulsed by. It was a skill, sometimes maybe a gift, but it was always advantageous to some degree.
"Why are you telling me this? What do you want me to do with it?"
"What do you think?" Angela huffed, surveying him dubiously. "I need you to help me separate Sylar from Peter before it's too late, by force if necessary. You get an end to this... competition... you have with Sylar and I get my son back. I think that's pretty fair, don't you?"
The fact that she was genuine about messing with people's personal lives being "fair" was what reminded Noah of the good ol' days of their partnership. Angela Petrelli was always ruthless, without a doubt, but she was almost always on the winning side. Even if that side was obscured with the pain and blood of many past victims. They often were on the same page, Noah and Angela. So far this hadn't been much of a bad thing.
"Now that they're onto us it'll be impossible to divide them internally." The agent thought aloud, again thrown back to yesterday's confrontation. "They're going to be a lot harder to get between, a lot harder to catch."
"Precisely. And that's why I need you leading a team we can trust." Angela heaved a large, black crocodile bag onto her lap. "I've already spoken to Erica. This will be your top priority."
A file was retrieved from the depths of the bag and slid across the table by immaculate talons.
Noah wasn't too sure he liked having his job rearranged without his knowledge, but he lifted the file anyway. One of the old Primatech ones, he was pleasantly surprised to notice. "And this is?"
"Reinforcement. An old friend."
( )
"We have a lot of those, don't we?" Noah raised an eyebrow at her before opening the file to the front page. Angela calmly watched the questions chase each other across his bruised face, enjoying seeing the pieces of her plan click into place.
"Tempting. But he won't do it." Noah sighed. Angela hooked the last of her sushi from the tray and chewed slowly. "I already tried to recruit him for the changeover. His power is invaluable but he wants out the game."
Shaking his head, Noah held the file back out for Angela. It was never received by the glamorous woman who just tipped her head to the side and sent him the sweetest of smiles.
A/N: I'm sooo sorry for the wait! If you made it this far, I can't thank you enough for your patience over the past few weeks. I also can't express how happy I am to be able to FINALLY update this story! :D I really am sorry for the wait between updates (I promise, it's not annoying anyone more than me!), but hopefully this monster of a chapter will make up for it a bit X)
This one was a battle to write (30 pages!), there were so many issues that needed airing and planting and resolving all at once, and I just hope I didn't miss anything out hehe. I also hope you haven't forgotten what happened last chapter because it took me so long to get this one ready XP
The good news is – that's us just at the end of Act 1 (think roughly after "Homecoming" in Season 1), so there is a lot more story still to come! AND as summer is now approaching, I should have more time to write and update over the next few weeks X)
P.S. - Please go and check out Yajanele's beautiful fan art for this story over on Deviantart: yajanele. deviantart. com
