Major thanks goes out to Chakram for her fantastic fic research help! Peter, Claire, and Noah greatly appreciate it, as do I :D
3. In a Flash
"Sit down, please. Are you thirsty?"
Mohinder had brought the very nervous Lucy to his apartment later that day, and although he tried to be as pleasant as possible, there was only so far you could go while pointing a gun into another person's back. Once he got to the apartment, he put it back into his coat, but made sure Lucy sat within his field of vision as he entered the kitchen.
"I think this milk's old," said Mohinder, examining his fridge. "We do have cranberry juice, and guava too, which one do you-"
"—Are you some kind of psychopath or something?" Lucy asked him from the living room, embracing a couch cushion as tears started to well in her eyes.
"Uh, excuse me?" Mohinder asked, turning around to find an utterly terrified look on Lucy's face.
"I said I'd return your shit, and you decide to take me home to your-your…your serial killer bachelor pad or whatever!" she shouted, crying now. "And then you have to be all nice and friendly about it, just to creep me out even more!"
Hold on, did she just compare him to…?
"Look, I'm…I'm sorry," Mohinder said urgently, absolutely astounded that he was even being accused of this. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just-"
"Like hell you didn't mean to scare me!!"
"Now wait a minute, Lucy," Mohinder started, pulling out his gun slowly and setting it on the table. "You see that? I don't even have the gun on me now! Will you please just relax, I don't have any intentions of-"
"Mohinder?" called Molly's voice. She was standing in the hallway entrance to the living room, still in her pajamas.
Lucy stared openly at Molly in horror, looking back at Mohinder with absolute fury. "Good God, did you kidnap her too, you sick fuck?!"
"No!" He yelled, feeling absolutely out of his depth now, and vaguely aware that Molly's ears were not covered for that last sentence. "Molly, please go back to your room for a few minutes, okay?"
Turning back to Lucy, he said, "Look, you have the wrong impression about me! I'm sorry I scared you, but I needed to talk to you about-"
"—Mohinder, I'm burning up again," said Molly, coughing. "Could I have some more cranberry juice?"
It took Mohinder a while to process the request, given that she was the only one in the room not yelling. Eventually he realized it gave him a reason to go into the kitchen and hide for a few minutes, so he kissed Molly on the head and retrieved it for her, asking a still hysterical Lucy to wait a moment.
Molly, meanwhile, sensing that Mohinder wasn't handling his situation very well, sat down on the couch next to Lucy. "My name is Molly," she told her.
"I'm…Lucy…"
"Pleased to meet you, Lucy," Molly said, smiling graciously. "Why are you mad at Dr. Suresh?"
Lucy stared. "Sorry, did you say doctor?"
"Yes, he's been taking care of me for the past few months. I'm really sick. I'm not well enough to do what I can do yet."
"What is it you do?" she asked curiously.
"I find people," said Molly, thanking Mohinder as he set the glass on the coffee table. Clearly terrified of Lucy now, he let Molly deal with the situation. When in doubt, leave it to a ten year-old, he smartly reasoned.
"All I do is think about a person, and I know where they are," Molly continued. She took a sip of her juice, and then looked back at Lucy, deciding to ask, "What do you do?"
"What do you mean, 'what do I do?'"
"Well, what makes you special?" Molly asked. "That's why Mohinder brought you here, right?"
Lucy looked over at Mohinder now, more confused than angry now, but still just as scary, at least to him. "What is she talking about?"
"On the subway, when you stole my wallet," he started carefully, trying not to overdo any emotion. "And when you stole that woman's Blackberry. You barely had a split-second opening in either case. How did you do it?"
Now skeptical, she looked over at Molly for guidance. "You're sure I can trust him?"
Molly nodded. "He's taken good care of me for the past few months. I'd trust Mohinder with anything."
Lucy sighed. She pointed at the glass of water Mohinder had gotten for her. "Watch that," she told them.
Mohinder and Molly stared at the glass, and in a split second, it disappeared. At almost the same instant, Mohinder became vaguely aware of a growing coldness spreading throughout his crotch. He looked down.
Lucy held the now empty glass in one hand, its contents very recently thrown into Mohinder's pants. Molly giggled.
"Anyone could do that," Mohinder muttered, standing straight and groping around for the handkerchief he always kept in his jacket.
"But they couldn't do that and grab these," said Lucy, holding up Mohinder's gun and handkerchief in her other hand. "I've got super-speed." Molly stared, a decidedly impressed look on her face. Though annoyed, Mohinder managed an amazed smile as well.
He reached out for his gun, but Lucy withheld it, staring at him cautiously. "Wait a second, Water-Crotch," she said directly, "if you're a doctor, what's with the gun? And the creepiness, and the live-in patient?"
Sighing, Mohinder realized that it was time to set things straight. "I'm afraid I've had quite the year," he explained. "A few run-ins with some unpleasant people forced me to acquire a gun. And actually, I'm a geneticist, and I'm here to help special people like yourself and Molly." He looked at her very seriously. "I'm very sorry for scaring you, Lucy, I never meant to do that."
"I think those unpleasant people rubbed off on you," said Lucy, genial now. "But, I can't blame a guy for having balls. Apology accepted. Anyway, is this really what you wanted to make a deal about? My ability?"
"Yes," he answered, "I'm going to be traveling soon, I'm looking for a permanent cure for Molly's illness. But it's going to be a bit of an adventure; there are people out there who want to use Molly's ability for terrible ends. That's why I'll need someone to come with me. Someone who can help me out with the little obstacles these people would set."
"In exchange for me giving you your things back? That doesn't sound like a very fair deal, doctor."
"I would pay for everything, of course. And I'm sure you could make a contribution to funds as well," he grinned knowingly at Lucy. "Mostly, what I can offer is travel and a chance to find out swho you are, and to meet other people like yourself and Molly.
"But, if you're fine staying here in Chicago," Mohinder continued, "picking the pockets of rich businessmen and wannabe serial killers, then I wouldn't stand in your way. I leave the choice to you, Lucy."
Lucy sat in silent thought for about a minute. "I'll do it," she said finally, without much explanation, "but only for Molly. I can tell she thinks you need a babysitter."
The look on Molly's face seemed to confirm this, and Mohinder laughed. "A babysitter it is, then."
"So this is supposed to be the classroom for Nuclear Powers 101?" asked Peter, surveying the cavernous room of the abandoned facility Bennet had just broken them into.
Bennet was examining a small operations room at the far end of the space, knocking at the surprisingly sturdy observation window. Mentally, he decided the room would be suitable enough to act as a fallout shield, provided they stayed back a ways from the window.
"This place used to be known as the Mound Laboratory," he told Peter, "proud manufacturer of nuclear weapon detonators for 46 years. It's been closed for a while, so this facility is practically tailor-made for you to practice your ability."
"So then I don't have to worry about the radiation I leave behind? Since no one else goes in here, right?"
"Not unless the city eventually decides to do something with this facility," he said, unconcerned. "In which case, I suppose you could worry."
Peter suddenly realized that he had recruited himself yet another teacher with suspect morals. But he figured that the Midwest probably didn't have many safe places for a radioactive man to practice his skill anyhow. He forgot this concern once he saw Claire walking up an old staircase, lugging a backpack full of tranquilizers while talking on the phone.
"Does Claire have a boyfriend or something?" Peter asked, noticing Claire's animated gestures and more than excessive use of the words 'dork,' 'whatever,' and 'shut up!' echoing through the empty room.
Bennet shook his head. "Not yet, although it seems like they'll close the deal any day now."
"What's his name?"
"Rodrigo Jimenez." He chuckled slightly as he watched Claire, his mood a little more human and relatable than the previous day. "The worst part is he's a nerd and a basketball player. That means the only thing I can hate him for is his XY gene."
This elicited a laugh from Peter. "Don't worry; if he dates Claire, then I could probably find a hateable thing or two." It was at that point that Mr. Bennet began to appreciate Peter's position as uncle to Claire. If anything, it provided a united front against any suitors…at least until she was 30.
"Rodrigo, you are the biggest dork," she was saying into the phone. "…What? No, I don't think you should skip practice again, slacker…Ha, whatever! Hey, listen, I've got to go, can I call you back? …Okay, talk to you later!"
"Who was that, your drug dealer?" Peter asked teasingly as she walked up to him. "I see that backpack full of drugs, Claire, it looks mighty suspicious."
"Oh no, it doesn't look suspicious at all," Claire replied. "Just wait until I break out with the crystal meth." The words 'crystal meth' coming out of Claire's mouth elicited a strange look from him. "Peter, I'm joking," she insisted.
"Um, yeah. …I know that."
She rolled her eyes. "You were the one who started it, you know."
"Yeah, but I didn't know you kids knew so much about drugs!"
Claire laughed. "If you had kids, you would make for the World's Most Oblivious Dad."
"I'll settle with world's Most Oblivious Uncle for now, thanks. But uh," he dropped his voice, "listen, Claire, I wanted to thank you again. For doing this. It seriously means a lot to me."
She almost didn't know what to say. "You should thank my dad, if you wanted to do that," she told him. "I'm just the girl who's supposed to tranquilize you if you start freaking out again."
"Hey, don't act like you're the water girl," said Peter adamantly. "You being here means more than you'll ever know. And besides, you're my cheerleader, right? You've gotta keep my spirits up if the going gets tough."
Claire nodded, smiling. "I don't have the pom-poms, but you know I'll try."
Bennet finished preparing the area and soon Peter was standing of the middle of the vast space, looking over at the shelter area where Claire and her father stood ready to give instructions.
"What Ted Sprague learned," Bennet started, "is that his power was driven by his emotions, so it reacted strongly to any increase of adrenaline in his system. It seems to work the same way for you, Peter, because it triggered right after you fought with Sylar, when your adrenaline levels hit a certain breaking point.
"Your problem is that when you can't control your power, your body accumulates the radiation until you release it all in one massive explosion. In Ted's case, when he was injured, for example, he emitted a constant wave of radiation while accumulating at a slower rate, so his explosion didn't detonate as quickly or in as powerful a form as yours did.
"So right now, Peter," said Bennet, watching as Claire prepared a syringe, "the tranquilizer I gave you earlier should be wearing off, so while you're at a resting position, you will try to summon your radioactivity. It is imperative that you stay calm the entire time, because your adrenaline levels will accumulate the energy. Try to concentrate only on creating small bursts of energy for right now. If it overwhelms you, Claire will be ready to help you out."
It was a lot to take in, but Peter was significantly encouraged by Claire's faithful smile. "Don't be scared, Peter, you can totally do this!" she shouted. "I know you can do it, I believe in you!" He smiled back, newly motivated. "Do you want me to do 'Peter Peter, He's Our Man!' or no?" she asked. Snorting, he shook his head.
"Are you ready?" Bennet asked.
Peter nodded determinedly. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. Absolutely calm. Silence surrounded him. He thought of Ted Sprague.
He felt the electrons surge through him immediately, not slow but nice and steady. Energy streamed through his chest and limbs. Opening his eyes, he saw his arms, now the same red glow they had been that fateful night in Kirby Plaza but fainter this time.
"That's it, Peter!" Claire yelled. "You're doing great!"
"Now, concentrate on generating small bursts!" Bennet instructed.
Peter looked down at his hands again, continuing to regulate his breathing carefully. Small, small, he thought, closing his eyes again. Focus. Make small bursts…
But his focus broke, when an abrupt vision of Nathan disappearing within the flash and fire suddenly triggered in Peter's mind. He heard Bennet yelling, and he opened his eyes to find his arms now bright red, emitting heat and energy waves into the air.
In the back of his mind he sensed the prick in his back, and gratefully he soon found himself swimming in instant tranquility once more, the energy rapidly abating inside of him. He was at peace.
Flashes of light appeared before his eyes. "Nathan…?"
"Peter!" came another voice. "Peter, please wake up!"
He was on the floor now, Claire kneeling over him in anxious terror while her father stood watching.
"What happened?" he asked.
"You lost control…" said Claire, her voice trembling.
"Did I hurt anyone?" She shook her head. "So what'd I do?"
"You proved that you're going to need a lot of work," said Bennet, shaking his head.
Light invaded his eyes like a damn parasite.
To top it off, he was incredibly cold, feverish. Hangovers were always like that, he remembered. He'd had more than his share in college and law school.
But this was different…
He became aware of a steady beeping around him. There was the soft whirr and hum of machines. He couldn't move.
And this light. It was fluorescent and annoying, but it was bright enough to prompt the memory. The explosion. Miles above New York. The energy, the flash of fire in his eyes. Peter…Claire…
The realization hit Nathan Petrelli quickly. He had survived.