"It was hard to understand at first; why all of this had happened, why it had to happen to us. It wasn't our fault, we didn't ask for this. Why should we suffer because of other peoples actions? Inevitably though, I realised that it had to fall to us, because no one else was there to carry that weight."
---
Claire stared around the armoured convoy for what seemed like the hundredth time already that night. Two men carrying high-powered rifles were sitting on either side of her, occasionally sneaking glances at her, sometimes not even sneaking. Audrey Hanson was sitting on the opposite side of the convoy. She hadn't even bothered to look up at her the entire trip.
Claire jerked her wrists slightly, rattling the pair of handcuffs tightened cruelly around her wrists. The guards weren't concerned with her wellbeing. As long as she was breathing, that was good enough for them.
"Want me to loosen them for you?" Audrey asked suddenly, glancing up at her.
"No. But you can tighten them if you want. Butch over there needs to start hitting the gym."
Claire grunted as the guard on her left suddenly lashed out with his elbow, catching Claire just above her eyebrow.
"Enough!" Audrey ordered the guard sharply. A faint smile appeared on her face as she regarded Claire thoughtfully. "I'd watch that tongue of yours. Not everyone here reacts as kindly as 'Butch' did."
Claire felt Butch shift in his seat. She ignored him and stared at Audrey. "Where's Peter?"
"Where do you think?" Audrey replied, tilting an eyebrow curiously. "Where do all the people like you go?"
"Omicron," Claire breathed.
Audrey nodded once. "Bingo, Claire. Though I wouldn't worry about him, I'd be worrying about myself. We don't know what you can do. At least, not yet."
"You don't know what I can do? You've been chasing us for two years, and you still don't know?"
"Oh, I have an idea. Remember Homecoming?" Audrey smirked. "Of course you do. Your blood was everywhere, but you didn't have a scratch on you. If I'm right about you, then our scientists will have all the time in the world to confirm what you can do."
Claire couldn't hold back the involuntary shiver that snaked down her spine as soon as the words left Audrey's mouth. One of the guards next to her sniggered, and Claire glared at him. She wasn't the same person she was back then.
She looked back at Audrey as the truck slowed and came to a halt. The other woman grinned at her and stood, moving towards the rear of the truck. The two guards remained where they were, though Claire felt them straighten and clutch their weapons tighter.
The rear doors to the truck opened and light suddenly blossomed through, causing Claire to squint and attempt to cover her eyes with her shoulder. When did it become day?
"Another one?" A new voice sounded from outside. It sounded dirty, sickening. Claire hoped it wasn't a hint of the man behind it.
"Another three," Audrey replied as she stepped out of the truck. "The others are in the third truck down. Sedated."
"Three? Come on, Hanson. We don't have the space for three. We don't even have enough room for one!"
"Well, work something out!" Audrey told him. "That's your job, right, Doyle?"
Doyle grunted in confirmation, but Claire could tell by his tone that he wasn't at all pleased. "Alright then," Doyle said, louder now, an order directed at the guards. "Bring that one out. Let's get a look at her."
Claire winced as one of the guards – Butch; she thought – grabbed her painfully by her armpit and hauled her to her feet. His fingers dug into her flesh cruelly tight as he pulled her towards the open doors and tossed her roughly outside.
A single gasp escaped Claire's lips as she struck the ground. Pain blossomed through her body as she landed heavily on her stomach.
"What did I tell you?" Claire heard Audrey shout angrily. "They are to be delivered safely! All of them!"
Claire groaned and rolled slightly, turning her head to stare up at the back of the truck. The guard who had tossed her had climbed down and was facing Audrey with a furious scowl on his face. The other guard was standing just inside the truck, watching the two expressionlessly.
"Why? That bitch is not like us!" Butch said angrily, waving his finger vehemently at Claire. "Why do you care what happens to her?"
"I don't." Audrey replied. Claire noticed the other woman's hand slide around her waist, as though gripping a gun.
"Then you won't care if I decide to lessen the load a bit." Butch directed his furious gaze at Claire and pointed his rifle at her head.
In an instant, Audrey's gun was out of its holster and trained on Butch's own head. "You do that, and I swear to God, I'll put a bullet between your eyes, right now!"
"You don't have the guts." Butch sneered. "You wouldn't kill me to save one of them." He spat the word out as though it pained him. He pushed his rifle forward until the barrel was pressing against Claire's head.
Audrey's gun clicked. "Go ahead. Try it. I dare you!"
"Enough!" Doyle said, stepping between the two and raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "We're all on the same team here." His voice sounded slick, amused. It made Claire's stomach churn uncomfortably.
Doyle turned and regarded Butch thoughtfully. "Put the gun down."
Butch's face contorted in a grimace and his gun lowered until it was pointing against the ground. Claire couldn't hold back the relieved sigh that escaped from her mouth. She hadn't even realised she was holding her breath.
"Good." Doyle said, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together. He turned and Claire met his eyes. If her stomach was churning before, she couldn't describe what it was doing now. "Now you're a pretty one, aren't you?" He told her with a silken grin on his face.
Claire clenched her fists as she raised herself to her knees. "Screw you!" she hissed through her teeth.
"And she's still got some spirit, at least. This is going to be fun."
"I don't want to hear about any of your games, Doyle." Audrey interrupted. "I don't want another Meredith Gordon on our hands."
Claire's heart leapt as soon as her biological mother's name left Audrey's mouth. The sudden excitement was quickly washed away by the meaning behind Audrey's words. What had Doyle done to her?
"Don't fret, Hanson. I won't push our guest too far."
"I hope not."
"Alright," Doyle clapped his hands again. "Put this one here in with Des, he doesn't have much longer anyway. And as for the other two…?" he looked at Audrey, waiting for her to give orders.
"I want Petrelli in an interrogation room as soon as he wakes. Take the other girl to research and—"
"Wait, wait, wait," Doyle said quickly. "Petrelli? As in Peter Petrelli?" When Audrey nodded, Doyle threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "You actually caught Peter Petrelli?!"
"Yeah, just shout it from the rooftops, Doyle." Audrey said sarcastically. "That's the way we do things here."
Doyle turned at glared at her. The flash of anger lasted only a moment as he turned his attention back to Claire. "Well, well, stand up, pretty. Let's go see your new home."
Whatever orders Audrey had given the people at Omicron to leave Claire alone, they weren't following them. Audrey had left straight away to supervise the Omicron Agent's as they moved Peter to an interrogation room, leaving Claire in the hands of Doyle and the other guards. Claire didn't know what happened to Elle, but she really couldn't say that the issue was on her mind. Audrey was right; Claire was saving all of her worry for herself.
The guards had all but dragged her into a stone grey building. The trucks had brought them out of New York City, they weren't anywhere near the main Omicron building. Claire didn't know where they were.
She was leered at lustfully as she was forced to strip and change into a set of baggy, grey, and not to mention itchy clothes in full view of the guards. After which she was led through level after level of room filled corridors before finally coming to a halt outside a barred door. The only difference between this door and all the rest was the red painted number 308 in the centre of the door.
Claire suppressed a shudder when felt Doyle's hand touch the small of her back as he unlocked the door and pushed her forward. She didn't pull away, or swear at him again. She had done it just before she was forced to strip, and the guards were a lot less gentle now that Audrey was gone.
"What? No balloons?" Claire smirked as the door opened, revealing the stark cell beyond. At least after all these years she had learned how to put on a brave face.
Doyle smirked at her. "I wonder if you'll still have that mouth on you after a week in here, hmm. But I suppose you'll have more reason to be happy than your friend, 'the great Petrelli.' He doesn't even get a blanket to tuck himself in at night."
Claire glared at him as the light touch against her back suddenly turned into a shove. She stumbled forward, barely catching her balance in time to prevent landing face-first on the concrete floor.
"Have a nice night, pretty. I'll be back to see you tomorrow." Doyle laughed as he slammed the door shut. Claire heard the lock click and Doyle's footsteps fade away down the hall.
Claire breathed out and pressed her fist against her forehead, fighting back a fresh batch of tears.
"Are you okay?"
Claire whirled around, the entire cell flashing in front of her eyes before her vision landed on a tall and lanky boy sitting on the top of a set of bunk beds pushed against the wall by the window. His head was shaved and pale, and thin strips of wire dug into his scalp.
"Who… who are you?" Claire asked, taking a step back as the boy lowered himself from the top bunk and landed neatly on the ground with a soft thud.
"I'm Desmond." The boy said cheerfully, holding out his hand for Claire. When she didn't respond, he shrugged and let his arm fall to his side. "You can call me Des if you want, everyone does. What's your name?"
"…Claire." Claire responded. This boy was happy, cheerful. Why was he cheerful when he was wearing those itchy clothes and had wires snaking through his head?
"Hi, Claire. You can have top bunk if you want. I've never had a roommate before, so I don't know."
"I'm fine." Claire said.
"Okay, then. I hope they give us food soon. They forgot about breakfast this morning." Desmond said as he jumped back onto the top bunk and lay down.
Claire walked towards the bottom bunk and sat down, holding her head in her hands. Desmond's steady stream of chatter barely registered with her. She was tired; she hadn't slept since the night before – before they were attacked. It had all been a rush of adrenaline for too long, and Claire was sick of it.
She didn't look up when Desmond dropped back down from the top bunk, but she could feel his gaze on her. She could even picture his expression. She didn't want his pity; she didn't want to be here, with the guards and their open, lascivious sneers, and Doyle with his beady little eyes. She hoped that Peter was okay; she hoped that Elle was still alive.
A single tear trickled down her cheek.
