Claire had never been a big fan of public speaking. She could remember giving presentations in high school and leaving the room with sweaty palms and shaking legs. For some reason being on top of a pyramid (or a ferris wheel, as it were) was easier for her than speaking in front of a large crowd, and though she'd gotten better in the past few decades, there was still a part of her that shrunk away from the faces that looked up at her in the warehouse, equal parts expectant, hopeful, and apprehensive.
She let out a long breath, pushing down her nerves and remembering the way Peter had carried himself in front of a crowd, the confidence and ease with which he spoke his mind. It was easier for him, she thought, because he was entirely unselfish. He didn't have to worry about saying something wrong because he always spoke his mind, and his mind was always looking out for the best interests of others.
Claire knew that she was selfish. Her main goal in finding the man from the video was not to protect everyone else, not to prevent war or riots, but to make him pay for what he had done to Peter. She comforted herself with the image of his head rolling on the floor, taking the place of the image of Peter that had consumed her mind over the past few weeks, despite her constant attempts to push it down. Part of her was disturbed at the way she craved this type of violence, but another, much larger part of herself simply didn't care.
"Thank you all for being here today." Claire projected her voice the way that Peter had taught her to in the instances where she was required to speak alongside him, though it was hardly necessary here. The warehouse was largely empty, with only a few empty crates stacked along the fading metal walls. Her voice echoed around her, circling the room and coming back to her own ears, slightly distorted.
"I know by now you're all aware of what happened to Peter." She ignored the image that his mind conjured up, the way her stomach clenched tightly as his name pushed past her lips. "You've seen what this man and whoever he works with is capable of, what he wants, and since you're here, I know that you're not ready to accept his words." She paused, glancing around the room. She recognized many of the faces in front of her, and had spent the past few days making sure that she knew every name, every face, every power.
"He's going to create anarchy. Chaos. People will die, specials and otherwise, and we will all be blamed for it." She lifted her voice, remembering the ways in which Peter had spoken to crowds, and did her best to both mimic it and somehow make it her own. She was not Peter; that much was clear, both to herself and to this crowd, and she could not pretend to be him.
"It's only a matter of time before some specials take him up on his word. There have already been isolated incidents, right here in New York: specials acting out and attacking those they view as wronging them." She paused, letting out a breath.
"We have been wronged," she said, letting her words linger for a moment. "But violence isn't the answer here." She imagined the man's head rolling across the floor, tasting the hypocrisy on her tongue even as she spoke. "All violence will do is prove to those who doubt us that they were right all along, that we are to be feared and demonized. We need to show that we do not stand with him."
She could hear the murmurs among the crowd, and it didn't take long for them to begin to speak.
"What if he's right?" Claire quickly located the source of the words, recognizing a woman who had been rescued from the hospital. She had been a child then, hardly able to control her ability of teleportation, and now looked older than Claire herself, a fact that Claire chose not to linger on. "They got rid of the hospitals officially, but we know that there are still specials going missing. Hate crimes are on the rise. We aren't safe. If those in power won't protect us, we need to protect ourselves."
Quiet murmurs of assent rippled across the warehouse.
"We can protect ourselves," Claire protested. "The right way. Peter had the right idea. We can change the rules from the inside. We just–"
"Look where that got him!" the woman shouted. "If that man hadn't killed him, someone else would have. It was just a matter of time. People will never accept us."
Claire could feel herself losing them. And to be honest, part of her agreed with them. It was the reason she had jumped from the ferris wheel in the first place: a desire to stop hiding, to be accepted. But that decision had only led to violence and captivity, something which she was reminded of more and more every day.
"This man, whoever he is, isn't the answer!" Claire shouted, drowning out the voices that were becoming louder. "He killed Peter in cold blood, and was too much of a coward to even tell us his name. He only wants chaos and death. This will end in a war if we don't do something about it!"
The murmurs were growing louder and more restless, and those in the crowd began to argue with one another. Claire could feel panic rising in her chest, a primal feeling that she had only experienced a handful of times in her life, though far more than anyone else her age probably had. She found her eyes drawn to Gabriel, but she couldn't find him in the crowd any longer.
"Listen!" She struggled to project her voice again, willing herself to find the words she needed. "I know that things aren't good for us right now. You're right; not everyone accepts us. But we can make change. Peter was so close to pushing his way into office, where he could make real change. We can build on what he did. We can campaign, we can protest, but we can't give into violence. We can't become the monsters that they think we are!"
"What a lovely sentiment."
Claire recognized the voice even before she saw his face. She turned slowly, her eyes falling on the figure standing near the open door behind her. He was wearing another suit, though there was much less blood splatter on this one. His beard had recently been trimmed, though it still reached the top of his tie. Claire imagined she saw more gray in his hair than a few weeks before.
"You."
She was moving towards him before she could stop herself. She hadn't come unarmed; both Peter and Sylar had insisted she arm herself at all of Peter's campaigns, and had shown her how to use a gun, along with basic self-defense. She felt confident she could get a shot into his head before he could react, but just as she moved towards him, someone pulled her back, yanking her arms behind her back with such force that she felt one of her shoulders nearly pop out of its socket. She bit back a scream of pain, instead thrusting her head back and up at the person holding her. She heard a solid 'crack,' and her head exploded with pain as she rolled away from the person holding her.
There was a woman standing in front of her, blood streaming from her nose. Her dark green eyes flashed with anger as she lifted her other hand, sending a ball of flames at Claire. Claire barely moved in time, feeling the fire singe her hair; she could smell the burning strands as the man stepped forward.
"That's enough, Mia."
The woman grumbled, extinguishing the flames from her fingertips even as Claire watched. Claire shook her head slowly, searching for Gabriel in the crowd, knowing that between the two of them, they could kill this man now, but he was nowhere to be seen. She bit back a curse, looking back at the man, feeling the gun tucked into her waistband, begging to be used.
The specials behind her were beginning to panic. She could hear their voices, rising higher and higher, and she knew that, despite her speeches of nonviolence, there was only one way to solve this.
She reached for the gun and pulled it out before the fiery woman near her could react. It only took her a moment to take aim at the man in front of her, pulling the trigger as soon as she had her sights on his forehead. She waited for the impact, the blood splatter, but the man was no longer standing where he had been a moment before.
Claire blinked, and suddenly he was standing behind her, yanking her arm back until the gun clattered to the floor. She thrust her elbow backwards, but he was gone; the momentum sent her stumbling backwards, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of her. He was back where he had been standing before, her gun in his hand and a smile on his face.
"Too slow," he said simply, emptying the bullets from the gun before throwing it carelessly to the side. The woman, Mia, grasped Claire by the arm, yanking her to her feet and pulling her to the side. Claire struggled against her grasp, but this woman was bigger than her, stronger, and she just held her tighter.
"Thank you for gathering everyone together for me," the man said, stepping up to take Claire's place. "That makes this all so much easier."
Claire scanned the crowd quickly, searching for Gabriel's form. Where was he? He should have been ripping this man apart. As much as she longed to kill him herself, she would have taken anything at that moment.
"I'm sure many of you have questions." The man's voice was louder than Claire's, more confident, and already the specials were looking at him. Some were clearly afraid, having seen what he had done to Peter and the way he had entered today, but others had an air of curiosity about them. Claire felt her stomach sink to her knees.
"My name is Thomas Hill. You may recognize me from the video of our late political candidate, Peter Petrelli." Claire struggled harder against the grip on her at the sound of Peter's name, but the woman simply held her tighter, cutting off the circulation to her hands as she gripped her wrists. "I regret having to send our message that way, but it was the only way to make sure his naive idealism didn't get the rest of us killed."
"That's bullshit!" Claire shouted. "He doesn't care about any of you. He didn't have to kill Peter—"
Claire felt her head snap to the side, and she could taste blood in her mouth as Mia backhanded her hard. She felt the skin on her cheek repairing itself almost immediately, even as Thomas continued to speak, effectively drowning her out.
"I'm here to give you all a choice." He paused, allowing them to take in his words. "There are already many on my side. People like you, who wanted what was best for themselves and their children, their families, and thought that the system could change. But it can't. Those hospitals didn't end 20 years ago. They're still out there, under different names and better hidden. Our kind is still hated, viewed with disgust and distrust. People are slow to change. It's our job to spur that change, or to take what's ours by force."
"You can join me," he said, his voice growing louder. "There are more of us than there are of them. If we band together, we can make sure that none of our kind is ever hurt again. We can take control. We can make them pay for daring to hold us down."
Claire watched with undisguised horror as the woman from earlier stepped forward.
"I'm in." Her voice was harsh, angry. "I'm done being pushed around. They're never laying a hand on me again."
Thomas smiled, and the sight sent a chill down Claire's spine.
"Excellent choice," he said, gesturing an arm over the rest of the crowd, nearly 30 other specials. "And what of the rest of you?"
Several more stepped forward, some more timid than others. From adults to teenagers, Claire watched as nearly half of the group she had assembled, half of the people who had supported Peter in his endeavors, willingly joined the man who had brutally beheaded him.
"I'll admit that I'm disappointed in the rest of you." He looked out at the fifteen or so remaining on the warehouse floor. "This offer isn't one to be taken lightly. You may not get a second chance." He paused, and when no one else moved forward, he turned to look at Mia. Claire felt her grip tighten slightly before she was suddenly released, pushed forward onto her knees.
"Take them outside," Thomas told her. "And send the rest in."
Claire quickly pushed herself to her feet, looking at the man in front of her. He was barely even paying attention to her, as though she were of so little interest to him, not even a threat. She felt a sudden surge of anger course through her body, and she reached down into her boot, pulling out the pocketknife that Peter had gifted to her years ago for protection. She didn't move towards him quickly. She had learned by now that he moved faster than should have been possible. Instead, she stood slowly, keeping the knife hidden behind her back as Mia led a large group of specials outside.
There was silence for a few moments, and Claire found herself wondering again where Gabriel had gone. This was their chance to take out this man, Thomas, before Mia returned, or anyone else was there to protect him. His eyes were on the door, watching those he had just successfully recruited with a strange smile on his face. Claire slid to the side, keeping her breathing even and praying that he wouldn't look her way, that he would continue to ignore her presence until she could get close enough.
She moved quickly as soon as she was close enough, and she felt the knife barely graze the skin of his shoulder before he was gone, the momentum sending her forward. She turned at the last second, landing hard on her back in the same manner as before. He was standing above her, shaking his head.
"You're clearly not a quick learner, Miss Bennet," he said. She sat up quickly, swinging for his ankles, but he was gone again, now at her other side. She let out a groan of frustration as he consistently evaded her, moving faster than she could follow him with her eyes.
"As I said, you're too slow." She had stood up, and had the knife swung halfway toward his chest when he suddenly grasped her wrist, forcing her to drop the knife. "Just like your uncle was."
"I'm going to kill you," she hissed, feeling the force behind the words even as she spoke. "It doesn't matter how long it takes. I'll see your head on a pike."
He laughed, the sound grating her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"All of this talk about violence not being the answer, and now you want to kill me? I didn't take you for a hypocrite, Miss Bennet." She brought her other arm around, but he grasped that as well, twisting them so that she was standing in front of him, her back pressed to his chest and her arms folded in an X across her chest, her wrists pinned in place by his hands.
"How nice to see you, Sylar." Claire looked up, finding Gabriel standing only inches away, holding the knife she had dropped moments before. She hadn't even seen him enter the room. There was blood splatter on his clothes, enough for concern, though Claire didn't know if it belonged to him or someone else. She felt a sudden sense of relief at his arrival, though it was tinged with annoyance at his not having come sooner.
"My name isn't Sylar anymore."
Thomas laughed, and Claire felt the reverberation in her own body, still pressed tightly against him.
"You'll always be Sylar," he said. "That's why we wanted you in the first place."
Claire stiffened, and she knew that Thomas felt it.
"You didn't tell her?" he asked. Claire looked at Gabriel, who was studiously avoiding her gaze now.
"Tell me what?" she demanded.
"We were after Peter, of course, but that wasn't the only reason we came to his speech." Thomas' voice was steady and sure, as though he was enjoying the hold he had over her, both physical and mental. "Mia assured me that the message was passed along to Sylar. I assumed he would have told you by now. After all, you two seem so close."
Claire stared at Gabriel, feeling a surge of anger rise from her stomach to her chest. They were after him, too. Of course they were. If Gabriel wasn't sure if he could keep the monster in check, then why would a man like Thomas think any differently? He was a potential weapon, and a deadly one at that. And Gabriel hadn't told her. Even after everything they'd shared, even after the night before–
Claire shook her head quickly, refusing to allow her thoughts to travel down that path, at least not now. She had bigger problems.
"Let her go." Gabriel's voice was low, dangerous, and oddly familiar to Claire, though she remembered it under very different circumstances. She saw that familiar glint in his eyes, the desire for violence, for dissection, that had been largely kept at bay.
"And there he is again. I told you that you were still Sylar."
Claire barely had time to react. She heard heavy footfalls in the doorway, and had barely turned her head in time to see several men in black enter the room, pistols in their hands, when she was thrown forward and directly at Gabriel. She hit his chest hard, sending them tumbling backwards and onto the ground.
She heard the first gunshot before she was able to move. A woman screamed, and another shot followed. Claire pushed herself off of Gabriel, ignoring his attempts to keep her down as the fifteen remaining specials were gunned down where they stood. She scrambled to her feet as one of the men approached a young teenager, probably 13 years old, clinging to her mother's hand and screaming as he pointed the gun at her. Claire didn't think before grasping the man's arm, trying to wrench him back and away. He turned for only a moment, long enough to send a bullet through her stomach, before turning back and sending another through the young girl's chest.
Claire felt her knees hit the ground, warm blood seeping from the bullet wound in her stomach. She could taste it in her mouth, a sharp metallic tang. She could see Gabriel, sending as many men to their deaths as possible. He was powerful, frightening, sending them flying into walls or slicing their heads in a very familiar manner, sending bullets flying back to them. But it was too late; by the time the last man was dead by his hands, every special left in the room was also dead.
The smell of blood was overwhelming. Claire could feel her body healing, attempting to push the bullet from her stomach. She forced herself to her feet, refusing to meet Gabriel's eyes, knowing that she would not like the sight she found
Whatever experiments had been conducted at the hospital regarding her blood was never shared with her. She didn't know why her blood worked at times and not at others, where the cutoff of death started and ended. All she knew was that this was the only good thing her power could do: heal others, just as it healed herself. She stepped towards the group of bodies in front of her, fully intending to bring them all back to life, when she felt Gabriel's hand on her shoulder. She didn't have a chance to fight him before they were back at his apartment.
Claire stood slowly, feeling blood dripping from her fingertips and onto his carpet.
"Claire–"
Claire looked up at him. The bloodlust she had seen in his face was gone, replaced by a concern that made her chest constrict.
"I could have saved them!" The anger was back, pulsating through her veins like the blood she was regenerating. "Why did you take me away?!"
"There could have been more of those men. All it takes is one shot for us both to die, Claire. It wasn't worth the risk."
She didn't answer him, instead pushing past him and down the hallway, stepping into the bathroom and locking the door behind her. She heard him pause outside the door before slipping into his own bedroom, shutting the door securely behind him.
It was only then that she allowed herself to cry.
Edit: Changed a few things near the end of this chapter.
