A/N: Omg... the last chapter! I'm not gonna cry! I'm not gonna... *sniff*... cry. Just a warning, this chapter, fer sure, is a strong "M". Please enjoy and thank you - ALL of you - for sticking with me on this ride, I can't tell you how much it means. This has been a labor of love and would've gone nowhere without you. So, anyhoo, on with the show and keep your eyes peeled for an epilogue and a new multi-chapter I hope to get started this week. OH! And enjoy tonight's season finale!!! Sylar Redeemists rejoice!!!
I don't own Heroes or anything remotely related and I bow humbly before the television gods, please have mercy on me. Rated "M" for language, some violence, some blood & guts, and eventually some sexual imagery. And please review! If I've massively screwed something up, I'd like to know =D
15) Homecoming
Feeling more than just a little like his namesake, an angel of war, Gabriel the Herald (Osiris, Lord of the Afterlife) took inventory as he brought around his fearsome arm, dancing in a dangerous arc of beautiful destruction. One – he hated being chased. A lifeless head rolled away from a falling, black-suited body that would never chase him again. Two – he hated being manipulated, or lied to. Like, by the last few people in which he risked placing his precious, tentative trust – one of which was currently warming a cage lining the wall, unknowingly grateful for his benevolent if not reluctantly practiced mercy. Three – he hated being drugged. He deftly dodged darts, collars, and blinking mechanisms spewing poisonous gas as he hacked open the chest of a flamethrower who missed him with every attempt to incapacitate him. Four – he hated being shot. A menacing, wolfish, smirking growl briefly lit his features as he turned, pushing to create space and flinging searing flashes of scorching energy to pummel into his enemy, and he felt the cold heft of the only deadly firearm in the room press against the small of his back where it was tucked into the waistline of the pants he'd… borrowed from an unconscious Mike. He howled with terrifying fury when he carelessly tripped into retaliating fire – something electric razed across his skin and temporarily paralyzed him, almost creating a detrimental domino effect that would keep him from regaining control of the fight. As he toppled forward into proper balance, parrying a clawed swipe from a lycanthrope that was allowed to move closer than he would've liked, he seized the opportunity to turn events back into his favor and he remembered number five – he hated being electrocuted. He found the previous culprit and dispatched him with bloody, cold indifference.
When he was the last living thing standing, he took a moment to calm his heavy, exerted breath and survey the halo of gore around him, wiping a shaking hand across his sweating brow. Over the buzzing whir of Belinda's waiting portal and the sound of footsteps alerting the approach of round number two, he heard Mike groan back to life off to his right.
"There're gonna be more than suits," the man warned quietly, grimacing as he noticed his distinct lack of clothing.
"Why would you tell me?"
"Look at me, buddy… I'm disarmed and in my freakin' underwear… what else have I got to lose? Certainly ain't my dignity…" They both knew that wasn't true – he was responsible for saving the lives of potentially millions. If there was anything he did have, it was dignity. "I ran a trace on your black-suited friend's fet number… found him here, after we knew he was on Leo. He had to have come over on the same ship, but other than a handful of agents and a small army of the Guard… there was no one else. And then I remembered that one… from the gym… and I knew we were dealing with an imposter. I instituted an order that would reveal him. All available hands were sent to his location, but I knew that whatever this was, it was all about you. So I broke rank and came down here instead. It sounds like everyone else is starting to catch on. You should probably jump down that rabbit hole while you still have a chance. They might not be shooting tranqs."
Mike was right. Nothing they'd worked so hard to achieve was going to be worth anything if they didn't get away. He turned to his old partner one last time, but he didn't know what to say.
"Maybe we'll meet again someday, under better circumstances," the other man supplied to fill the awkward void.
Gabriel nodded firmly. "I hope you get to go home and see your kids soon," he replied as he backed away and disappeared through the purple hole.
He rematerialized on the other side just in time to catch a fainting Belinda.
"I'm okay," she muttered weakly as he tucked a shoulder under her arm give her proper support, even if that wasn't exactly what Sylar had in mind for the girl. They were engulfed in a cacophony of sound, ranging from shouts to shots fired to the discharge of various offensive abilities. Looking around, he took note of their surroundings – she'd transported them to a large hangar… at the space port in Carver City. They were in a restricted area which had gotten them embroiled in an altercation with security and had also drawn the unwanted attention of a few screaming civilian bystanders, but the Feds hadn't had a chance yet to arrive. The sooner they could hijack a ship and break orbit the greater their chances of success. "Olivia said this is where the Feds house some of their subsidized transport ships," Belinda whispered. "I think she said there was one available in bay C3, but I didn't know how to get there."
"That's alright, we'll get it figured out," he told her, hauling her to a protective barrier of cargo crates. He stepped away as Olivia pulled back to greet them, the small handgun she'd been able to procure from a fallen guard having run out of ammo.
"We're not gonna be able to hold this position," he told Peter as he crept up behind him, sorry to distract him from telekinetically shielding their compatriots as they fought to defend themselves.
"I know, I just don't know where to go, and I've been kinda preoccupied…"
"Olivia says there's a ship in bay C3 – I can keep a shield up if you wanna start probing some minds." Have fun with that, Pete. That was an ability Gabe could truthfully say Sylar had never coveted. Peter only nodded before ducking down behind the looming tower of boxes. With the relative ease of centuries of experience, Gabriel pushed his arms out in front of him then spread them wide, creating a formidable and impenetrable invisible wall – one that prograded, knocking the crouching and firing uniformed officers off of their feet to roll away, scraped across the floor by the force. He could sense the other telekinetic, the one he'd seen earlier, picking weapons away, creating a safer distance between them and their handlers. Plumes of flames, balls of light, and booming sonic explosions filled the space left empty by the retreating cavalry, accentuating the point while doing no further damage.
"Whatchoo got, Petey?"
"Shhh shhhh…" he hushed impatiently in response, waving a finger in the air. He replaced it back to his temple, and a vein started to pop across his forehead. "Don't let them get so far away, it gets tough to hear them."
"Pffff, why didn't you just say so?" He slung out a ghostly lasso, yanking a singular security officer to land, howling, at their position. Olivia joined them and, very businesslike, pressed the barrel of her gun to the back of the man's ball-capped head, immobilizing him in surrender. He didn't have to know the thing wasn't loaded.
"Please, I have a wife and kids, don't -"
He was interrupted the moment Peter seized his hands around the man's face.
"Just show me what I want to know," he murmured, closing his eyes in concentration. After a few moments of tense stillness he smiled. "Three bays – just three bays down, north of us, that's all the further we have to go – we can make it!"
"That's not very far, I can take us," Belinda offered, with a bit more color to her cheeks as she slowly pulled herself to her knees.
"No, Lindy," Olivia interrupted, "we can go on -"
"Seriously, that's a piece of cake, I can do it. Really."
"Sleep," Peter told the officer before gently laying his limp body on the floor. "The quicker the better, guys. I say let her try."
Gabriel reinforced his barrier as the refugees retreated and Belinda drew a circular opening in the air. He released his hold when he was the last to step through, turning to tell the girl, "You must think you're pretty damned useful or something, huh..." She smiled as she followed him and the hole cinched shut behind them.
They were all smashed together on the other side, pinched between stacks of more crates. Without taking the time to wonder what was inside such a heavily piled payload, Olivia and Gabriel elbowed their way toward the cockpit.
"If you can wrench open those hangar doors, I can take 'er out," she told him.
"Please, give me something hard."
Gabriel waved goodbye to the rapidly converging herd of security personnel as they collectively drew up short, some skidding from the abrupt change in momentum, evident fear written across their faces as they saw the craft lurch backward, afraid that they'd be sucked out into the vacuum of space if they didn't seal the inner hold immediately. He spared them by telekinetically drawing shut the aperture that separated the bay from the rest of the station. He turned to face the outer doors and smiled at the stars twinkling invitingly on the other side. Home was out there – no longer an intangible concept stoked by a fevered and inventive imagination… no longer an instrument used for self-pitying torture, but real. Real and waiting, sunny and warm, smelling like fresh roses and lilac. He held both hands out before him and pulled them apart, taking the doors with them. The inky depths presented themselves, offering an invitation they did not refuse.
~*~*~
"They give you a rough time, Agent Hornberg?"
Mike jerked, startled by the commanding voice, and looked up straight into the formidable, if not slightly scary, purplish complexion of his statuesque, perpetually-angry, red-headed boss.
"You could say that, Director, given my present… circumstances."
He didn't need to gesture, indicating his current state of incarceration and undress, but he did anyway. It was an oddly reflexive human habit. Another agent, no one he'd met before, released him from his cage and brought him a lab coat to drape around him like a blanket.
"Well, I hate seeing that happen to one of my best operatives," Director Scott continued with a dualistic tone of voice. "Calls are coming into dispatch from spaceport security over in Carver City. They're saying that a massive group of over thirty mods just showed up – out of thin air – in the middle of a hangar bay, inciting a massive riot. They're attempting to make off with a ship."
Mike cast his eyes to the ground, avoiding the man's penetrating gaze while he attempted to button up the modest garment. He knew what he was after. Tesseract drives merely created carefully calculated 'divots' in space between pairs of coordinates, drawing them close to each other – flying the ship, in the conventional sense, was not really a necessity once its mass was no longer affected by gravitational pull. Oftentimes coordinates were programmed remotely, and they were always stored – onboard in the vehicle's computer and additionally in Central databases (assuming they weren't just as tampered with as the Central laboratory turned out to be… and he would guess that they were). The Director wanted to know where they were going. But… why ask him?
"If you like, sir, I can place a call down to data warehousing, and -"
"That's not gonna do you any good, Agent, they're not going anywhere – they took the wrong kind of ship. They're sitting ducks unless they try to pull into the space station to hijack yet another vehicle of some kind."
This yanked Mike's attention away from the front of his coat.
"But… then -"
"What I'd like to know, Agent, is where they were thinking they were going to go."
And that was it right there. Coordinates were always stored onboard in the vehicle's computer. He wanted the coordinates that were stored in the computer he'd salvaged from Gabriel's stolen transport on Leo. He considered his dilemma for a fraction of a breath. One the one hand, if he complied, his career record stood a greater chance of remaining untarnished. He had no guarantee that Gabriel and his band of refugees would be attempting to escape to that particular location. On the other hand, what if he was wrong? What if that's exactly where they were going to go? And the things Gabriel and the false Guard had said… Thoughts of a galaxy living in peace clouded his mind… perhaps he could cash out his pension and open a bakery, maybe in a little suburb near the mountains outside of Ashton… What sense did it make to allow them to walk out the front door only to send the cavalry to meet them at the gate?
"Sir, I haven't had the chance yet to file my official report," he began to formulate his lie, "but all I found in the memory banks of the Leo transport's motherboard was a log of the last few messages sent to and from the communications array. Some of the board was damaged during the resulting confrontation after the transport touched down," which wasn't exactly untrue, "corrupting the rest of the data. Sadly, I couldn't get it to read. I'm sorry I couldn't be much more help. Perhaps I could offer to interrogate the prisoners once they're brought in for questioning?"
"Indeed, I think that would be most helpful, Agent."
~*~*~
"Uhh, Liv? Where're you taking us?" Peter's voice cut through a backdrop of relieved murmuring and nervous laughter. Even Gabriel had allowed himself the brief moment of victory, watching the planet recede behind them, heedless of the myriad hard lessons his long life had taught him to the contrary.
"Where do you think, Peter?" There was a slightly panicked note to her voice that plucked at Gabriel's ears and set him on edge. He hadn't quite heard the fat lady yet…
"Because it looks – and I'm not assuming anything here, alright, it just looks – like you're taking us toward the space station."
"Peter. Really? Have you completely forgotten the plan? Look around you, all the crates??? This isn't a ship, honey, it's a freakin' cargo shuttle. Remember? We pop in, we pop out, we're a couple feds transporting a section of mods to a new facility, we take the shuttle to the ship at the station, and we jet out of dodge before anyone knows anything is up – yes? But NO, that's too easy. You – yes, YOU – had to go and get caught!"
"So," Gabriel interjected, "what you're saying is -"
"What I'm saying is that there are no tesseract drives on this vessel. We either fight it out on that station and hijack a ship the violent rebel sort of way, or we aren't going anywhere."
Of course. The fat lady hadn't even started warming up. Gabriel could feel the artificial gravity working on his jaw as he and Peter stood and stared at her dumbly. To be honest, it wasn't that he objected much to the 'violent rebel' part, but he didn't want to scare the new people.
"Oh my god, Liv!" Peter cried indignantly. "Why wouldn't you get us on a different ship?!?"
"Because, honey, Carver City is just a port – the station is where all the ships are!!!"
"So why didn't we just telep-"
Hushed triumph turned into frightened cries as the craft was jarred by an unseen force, tossing people over each other as they scrambled to get away from heavy toppling boxes upset by the sudden wild rocking.
"What the hell was th-"
They were knocked about again and then a third time. The three locked eyes before Peter crawled around the co-pilot's console to peer at a sharp angle out of the viewport. A cloud of drones and a handful of heavier fighter-craft were pouring from the station on a pursuant course.
"Oh hell…"
"That good, huh," Gabriel replied, grasping at the bulkhead as the vessel was nailed again. "I don't know about you, but I was thinking we weren't quite screwed enough yet, you know, 'cause I really like it a little harder up the ass. Just a preference." He whirled at the sudden clamor of frenzied shouts accompanied by the scathing sound of a sickening hiss. Fear numbing his limbs, he retreated a few steps into the cargo hold to discover the cement-secreting mod applying his… talent to a nasty breach in the hull before they lost too much air.
"Sylar!" Peter yelled for him. "We need a containment field around this ship! NOW!"
Sure, if he could keep a shuttle intact upon atmospheric re-entry he could deflect a few explosions, right? No problem. He dropped to his knees for stability, extended his arms at his sides, and closed his eyes. He let his innate ability tunnel his focus, feeling along the outer edges of the hull, forcing all other stimuli to drop away. He pushed back against anything that pushed against him, particularly projectile weaponry.
He was nearly interrupted by Olivia's startled shriek as she watched three drones zip past the fragile viewport, attempting to slice its surface with red hot lasers, their energy rippling across the transparent surface of Gabriel's hopefully impenetrable shield. He could feel every electron burst, and he grit his teeth as his mind believed his skin was burning. His eyes watered from exertion and pain as he tried to ignore the bombs pummeling against his spine and ribs.
"Peter," Olivia called, "I have an idea! Do you remember the coordinates? If so, I can pull them up on the holo-display's star chart and Belinda can -"
"Belinda's not taking us anywhere," Peter replied, pointing to the girl where she sat oblivious to current events, crammed unconscious up against the bulkhead thankfully out of the way. A red stain had begun to appear across her abdomen – her sutures had obviously ruptured and she was in need of immediate medical attention.
"Fuck! What are we gonna -"
"No problem." Peter pivoted to swivel himself next to her where he knelt and smoothed one hand over her shoulder, adding her ability to his already bursting piggybank of powers. "I know where we need to go, I know the coordinates."
He stood and flung an arm toward the viewport, blinking as the buzzing drones continued their blinding assault and his eardrums were popping under the considerable raucous din, and he muttered to himself the same thing he'd heard Belinda repeat countless times.
"I guess I'm, uh… drawing a big ass door or something…"
A bright purple dot fizzled into existence in the distance.
"Peter, it needs to be bigger -"
"I'm working on it! Like I've done this a million times or something, good grief…"
"Quickly Peter!" Gabriel cried from where he'd made his final stand. "Fuck!!! Before I run out of skin – NOW!!! Oh my GOD!!! Do it NOW!"
…Skin? Unsure of what the loon was going on about, he concentrated on… spinning. Like pizza crust… and who was the loon now… but the faster it spun, the larger it got. He applied more force with every revolution, terrified to think about what would happen if the thing spun out of control. Would it supernova? Eat up the whole universe? Or… was there a limit to how big he could make it? He wasn't sure what frightened him more.
"It's working, Peter," Olivia breathed next to him, he hadn't felt her get so close. "Keep going – we could almost fit through…"
She gasped and jumped in surprise when the piloting console sparked wildly and detonated into careening, scorching red sparks – Gabriel was losing strength rapidly, one of the lasers had broken through.
"No NO!!! Fuck! Peter – I can't fly the ship!!! The circuitry, it's been cut – I can't span across!"
"Sylar, do you think you can push us through?"
He didn't receive a response.
"Sylar!"
He heard the man grunt as he tried to form a panting reply.
"No friction… nothing to push against…" Another explosion blasted against the hull, sending people and cargo to sway alarmingly off balance. "OH! Nevermind!" He pushed against it. He bellowed with agonizing strain as they slowly began to inch toward the portal.
"What about the drones?"
"Won't… go through… signal… gets lost…"
"Come on come on come on come on…" Olivia whimpered, fingers crossed and white-knuckled under her trembling lips. Reflected against the plexi-cement she could see the apparitions of two larger ships undocking from the station behind them, no doubt being sent to blast them from the heavens, bit by bit. And while the things were gargantuan and sluggish, if they didn't get moving…
She didn't release her breath until they were on the other side and the air collapsed around her with a sudden deafening absence of sound, save for the muted cries and soft moans from their human cargo. Her breath shuddered and hitched in her throat – she wasn't one who cried easily but the vision before her, combined with the aftershocks of their narrow escape, ripped the emotion unwillingly free.
It was like it was made of glass – the sphere swirled with colors so breathtaking they couldn't possibly belong in nature. Beside her, Peter slumped into the pilot's chair, resting a heavy elbow on the ruined console. Somewhere distantly behind they heard Gabriel's heavy form fall forward, heard the fleshy slaps of his palms hit the deck.
"Are… are we there? Are we safe?" Olivia openly sobbed.
"Sagittarius, that clever bastard… he took us to fucking Sagittarius."
"Didn't it blow up? Forever ago?"
"Wouldn't that mean it's deserted?"
Olivia was happy to concede the point, trailing disbelieving fingertips down the pane, shaking with adrenaline and desire.
~*~*~
"I can't believe we got this close but we're still so far away…"
Voices called to him, dragging him mournfully back to consciousness. Gabriel rolled his face against the scratchy surface of a packing crate, dutifully supporting his weight as he helplessly leaned into it. He couldn't wait until he could get back on that warm beach with a cold drink and a naked Claire and he could forget all about these worthless fucking spaceships for a while…
"I know… it's cruel to just sit here and be able to look at it, but not be able to get any closer…"
"How much longer do you think we have until we run out of air?"
Oh god, seriously?
"I dunno… there's a lot of us…"
"I could fly it if I could get the computer to talk to the engines, but the connections have been severed in so many places, I'm not sure I can find them all… and we have no materials…"
"Maybe he could push the ship again!"
The thought speared him with a white hot shot of pain.
"You heard him earlier – space has no friction. There's no opposing reaction – he's got nothing to push against."
"Maybe if I open up the patch I made over here on the hull breach, the escaping atmosphere would -"
"NO!!!"
"No, don't do that!"
"Are you crazy?!?"
"It was just an idea…"
"I can find where it's broken," Gabriel finally groaned, rubbing his face and scrubbing fingers through his mussed hair. He backed his way up the bulkhead until he got his feet underneath him, pitching forward unsteadily before Peter firmly grasped his shoulder.
"Easy, take it easy."
The room spun a little before eventually righting itself, allowing him to walk a more certain path to the cockpit.
"Even if you could," Olivia told him as he approached, "I'm not sure how we'd fix it – these crates are filled with textiles and food goods, medical supplies… not so much with the wiring and the soldering guns…"
"Actually," spoke a heavily muscled black man, "I think I can help with the wiring." He moved through the parting crowd to join her. At her side, he reached a tentative hand toward her head. "If you'd allow me…" She held unflinchingly still as he plucked a couple hairs from her crown. Holding them before her eyes she watched with desperate amazement as he transformed them into something decidedly more… metallic. The tiny rods glistened in the glow of the cruelly mocking planet outside the viewport. "I'm an alchemist."
"And wow, look at this," Gabriel replied, slightly chafed that he didn't first think of the ability he'd taken from Elle's father. He channeled his old victim's daughter instead, presenting his fingertips as a zapping arc of energy danced between them. "I've got a soldering gun. We'll be back up and running in no time."
"Provided we don't run out of air."
"Peter. Shut up."
Gabriel sprawled himself on the deck and gingerly began to remove the paneling underneath the console. His tremendous insight followed each individual path to its proceeding component system and the requisite bus controllers, memorizing intersections and tracing conduits as they were redirected. While he was busy devising a mental blueprint of the necessary repairs, the alchemist, whose name was Boli, began accepting hair donations from ladies with longer locks while the cement-secreting mod, who called himself Jack, set himself to the task of braiding and coating the new wires. He smiled for the first time he could remember, having always been ostracized, even amongst his own kind, for possessing a somewhat off-putting ability. He'd never guessed that something most would consider frankly revolting could ever come in handy, let alone lifesaving.
After a good twenty minutes of watching Gabriel's lower torso and legs twist and writhe as he repositioned himself in the cramped space, wincing as he hissed having singed his own flesh a couple times on some live connections, Olivia clapped in elation when the familiar winding hum of the engines sent vibrations through the hull and up her spine through the bottoms of her feet. Gabriel carefully extracted himself and stood, brushing himself off with smug satisfaction.
"Oh," he heard her sudden inhalation. "I remember you! Yeah! You crashed a plane in the Missouri River by the Kansas City Downtown Airport – I tranqed you in my living room!"
His eyes widened little as he drew a hand across the back of his neck, looking for any way to change the subject…
"Yeah! And then we wrestled your sorry butt into the back of my roommate's car and that blonde girl – Claire – she hauled you off to some hotel – oh yeah!" She turned to face her lover. "I remember her now Peter!"
"Yeah… things've changed… oh wow, look at that." A blinking green button on the communications array had legitimately captured Gabriel's attention. "Never seen it do that before…"
"Do what," Peter asked as he leaned in to have a better look. "Hmm, well… let's push it and see what it does."
"What – are you nuts?!? No way! Dude, why don't we just get down to the planet, and then we can -"
"Sylar, don't be a pussy. Green's not a bad color, it's a good color – it might be important."
He could almost smell the sea foam. His patience was slipping and he was getting cranky. People didn't like him when he was cranky.
"Pete. 'Good color?' Really? Look, the ship'll fly just fine without it, it can't be that impor-"
"Then why is it blinking like it's trying to get our attention???"
"Do you know? Know what it's like to explode? In space? Because I do, and -"
"I agree with him," Olivia interrupted. "It's making its presence known for a reason. We should push it."
Fuck.
"Just when I thought we weren't gonna die I'm suddenly clinging to life again…" Gabriel muttered as he wandered away, praying his intuition was wro-
Crisp, crackling static filled the hold. And then, a divinely delicate ringing harmony, her voice hung between his ears like a favorite lingering song.
"Louisa? Are you upstairs? Can you get one of the guys to come help me with this basket – it's heavy!"
He whipped around and flung out his arm, narrowly colliding with the surrounding bodies, and he smashed his hand down hard on that damned infernal blinking green button… but the voice that fell from his lips was little more than a stunned whisper.
"…Claire?"
~*~*~
With no more uncharted territory to occupy her restless mind, Claire turned, instead, to housework. She retreated to the downstairs portion of the mansion to avoid her roommates, who were all becoming equally agitated with the redundantly close quarters and the increasingly dismal prospect of ever being able to leave. She'd suggested to them they perhaps plan a shuttle trip, just to get them out of the house – an idea that was met with much wholehearted approval. So, as she sequestered herself, humming happily in the relative quiet while she dwindled her way through a couple loads of laundry before moving off to fiddle with a lovely room-length wine cellar, the rest of the planet's paltry populace put their heads together around the dining room table, eagerly discussing what supplies to take, which direction would be their heading, and whether or not it would be wise to consider an overnight stay. The last thing she'd heard before the door shut behind her was Arturo lamenting over the lack of a proper weather forecast. Claire guessed there was proper instrumentation inside the lighthouse to grant him his wish – she'd head there in a little while after she'd enjoyed just a little more alone time.
The first time they'd been down in this section of the house they'd been surprised to discover that the objects comprising the space had been coated with more dust than toxic residue, the bulk of both residing in the honeycomb shapes of the impressive rack of bottles. A tune floating through her head matching the rhythm of the spinning laundry unit, she settled herself securely on her ladder, removing the glass containers from their holes which she then doused with sterilizing chemicals. The eighth bottle she pulled gave her a pause. It was nearly one hundred years old – sealed as tightly as the day it was corked… and it was a pinot noir. She read those two words, lightly inked in gold on the label, over and over.
It was true, she hadn't appreciated the sultry liquid when she was seventeen, new to the world and unrefined as sugar cane (and the situation in which she'd been exposed to it hadn't been… ideal), but she wanted to think that several centuries went a long way toward maturing the palate. And while she had a healthier appreciation for a robust cabernet, or even a smoky shiraz picked late from a harsh climate… the pinot was Gabriel's favorite. Her rag dropped from her fingers and slapped wetly on the floor and she cursed under her breath. Instead of rushing down to retrieve it, she hesitated, drawing her thumb over the fading picture printed on the paper, smearing a clean trail through a small haze of grey fuzz.
She pressed the neck of the tapering cylinder against her lips, cool and musty – the exact opposite of the man whose mouth haunted her waking dreams. He'd been warm, fresh, and delicious, but she couldn't help herself. She kissed the cold glass tenderly all the same – it connected her with him, it was a link. It meant something.
Feeling like laundry and dusting were no longer so satisfying, and thinking perhaps she might head to the lighthouse after all, perhaps to enjoy a glass of wine, she descended and stuffed the beloved bottle deep into her linen basket where it could withstand a safe ride up the stairs. She piled on an even greater mound of items just finishing their cycle in an attempt at efficiency, but found she could no longer lift her load.
She never dreamed in a million years that when she called upstairs for help she'd hear his voice answer her.
~*~*~
"… G-Gabe? Is… that you?"
"Yeah, it's me, Claire."
"Oh my god…"
"Wow, this relay operates on a completely different frequency -"
"Can any of you guys hear this upstairs?!? Or am I just going crazy?!?
"No, child, we hear him too -"
"Claire, we just entered orbit, and -"
Gabriel was interrupted by a loud banging noise on her end.
"Ouch – oh my god, are you serious?"
"Of course I'm serious – how else would I be talking to y… how am I talking to you…?"
"Oh my god you're alive!!!"
"Claire -"
"There's a P.A. system all over this house," a voice filled in for the girl's sudden loss of articulation, presumably Kelly the doctor. "We think the people who lived here didn't just monitor the dome generator but also controlled shuttle traffic to and from the area -"
"Where are you!!!"
"Half a world away," he told her. "We dropped down on the night side, and it's a big planet – it's gonna take us half a day to get to you -"
"Oh god it's good to hear your voice… please keep talking," she wept, muffled and sounding like her face was pressed against the panel.
Gabriel grinned in vindication as, beside him, Peter's eyebrows slowly began to climb.
"There's some things I need you to do," he continued. "We've got a group of about thirty-five people on this ship who have nowhere else to go. I'm gonna have to work on the dome when I get home to try to extend it and get it to cover some more houses, but in the meantime we need clothing, bedding, food..."
"No problem, I can handle that. Oh my god I missed you so much… Hey! I think there's climatic instrumentation in the lighthouse – I'm headed up there now. I can give you a heads up on the weather maybe?"
"That'd be really great. I missed you too."
"I love you, Gabriel."
The heated glare he received was as murderous as Pious Peter the Paladin could get. For a split second Gabriel was worried he might get hit. Hard. After all… it felt like he was carrying on a secret relationship with what could be considered the man's baby sister – his only family. Between a rock and a hard place, ignoring Olivia's snicker of amusement over Peter's shoulder, he gulped and thought twice before answering.
"I, uh… I love you too. I'll see you soon."
"I can't wait!" She broke the channel.
"You said you were 'friends'," Peter began, shoving his face a little closer.
"Yeah, so, uh… things've changed a little bit, so…"
"Dude, that was freakin' last week!"
"Yes. Yes it was, I know. They've changed quickly. And we both know you didn't belie-"
"Quickly? Quickly?!? What did you do – did you brainwash her?!?"
"Brai- Brainwash?!? Really? What are we, cartoon characters?!? Seriously…"
Olivia sighed contentedly and slipped into the co-pilot's chair to watch the blanket of mint and lavender clouds slide past, the continued noise of their persistent argument echoing off of the ionosphere as a pleasant sort of white noise. She closed her eyes and let their funny lullaby lure her into a cozy dreamland.
"Because obviously, she's lost her mind – how could she just forget who you are!"
"Are you kidding?!? Dude! Centuries in prison!!! A decade of psychotherapy!!!"
"Only psychos need psychotherapy, Sylar…"
~*~*~
Their world was about to get a lot larger and a lot smaller, all at the same time. The house was humming with a busy mix of anticipation and dismay. There would be no shuttle weekend away, and nearly forty people were going to have to find a way to share… oh who was she kidding, the place had five bathrooms, not including the spartan half-bath in the generator room. But still…
On the other hand there would be new people. There was the prospect for new friendships, there would be new stories to entertain, new skills and ideas and voices and faces. New society. The excitement was invigorating. After Claire had returned from the lighthouse, warning her beloved to avoid a pretty nasty storm brewing off the opposite coast of the continent, she got happily busy sorting clothing while Louisa and Kelly were engaged in preparing three large pots of a warm, filling soup. The men set to work creating several rows of floor pallets in a large recreational room facing an opulent yet mucky and polluted star-shaped pool in the back yard. While they had enough blankets, they were running short on pillows and were considering making due with furniture cushions.
When everything was done and ready, all that was left to do was wait and fidget. Arturo hadn't left the window in the front room since the last bed was made. Kelly got up to stir the pots far too often. Louisa was cleaning things that were already clean. Jesse… well, he was youthfully oblivious, sprawled on the large sofa battling a hand-held gaming console he'd found. Claire could only pace for so long, unwilling to split anymore threads in the luxurious and ancient oriental rug, elbows sore from her firm, anxious grip. Lost in thought, she allowed her feet to unconsciously take her where they would, the image of his soft, dark eyes painted behind her eyelids, tantalizing her with the idea that she'd soon be gazing into them, kissing his velvet lips, her skin tickled beneath his silky touch and feathery sweet breath. She nearly bumped into the door of the magnetic lift when she reached it… she'd unknowingly led herself back to the lighthouse. Reassured by the knowledge that Gabriel was alive and safe and on his way home, she released her wary karmic inhibition and beamed with a girlish glow as she rode her way to the top where she sat perfectly still, never tearing her eyes from the horizon.
Until, after what felt like hours… something glimmered in the distance.
"Claire," her name buzzed through the air, causing her to jump with a mixture of shock and joy.
"Is that you?"
"I think I see the lighthouse, yeah."
He didn't receive a response. She flung herself at the lift, jabbing the button over and over in a nonsensical attempt to make it open faster. After an insufferably long ride she was finally on the ground, and she tumbled forward on legs that were moving more slowly than her hammering heart, taking a few hurried steps before tripping, plunging her knees into the malleable ground before her arms clawed her back upright. When she reached the house she tore the door open and ran down the hall, tracking sand and grass from her scraped (but healing) kneecaps across the expensively tiled floor.
"They're here!!! They're here!!! They're here!!!"
She heard a Kelly's spoon hit the countertop and Louisa's rag smack the floor before a gang of footsteps hastened to follow her down through the generator room into the earthen hanger residing deep beneath the lighthouse overhead. Claire strained her ears to hear the sounds of approaching engines over the exerted exhalations of her friends. Kelly clasped her hands beneath her chin and Claire could feel Louisa's fingers slide over her shoulders. She was positively vibrating… until she realized it wasn't her, but the rock around her and under her feet. The sound that met them nearly knocked them down – it was a big ship. They retreated to the makeshift stone steps descending from the entrance.
The behemoth eclipsed any light fighting to penetrate the cavern. Claire clamped her hands against the sides of her head, fearful the noise would burst her eardrums, healing ability notwithstanding. Gusts of hot wind whipped her hair about her and pressed her clothes uncomfortably tight against her body. The bloated craft eventually touched down, its cooling turbines still clattering and clinking as their internal temperature changed. She held her breath as the rear hatch slowly opened, and the others raced from their position to greet the newcomers. She wasn't going to move a muscle until she saw his face, to be sure his voice wasn't a cruel trick her mind had played on her. But then another familiar person rounded the corner to meet her awaiting gaze – she launched herself forward, propelling into the open arms of her uncle.
"Peter!" she gasped, mashing her cheek against his. "And… Olivia…? But…"
"Hey, Claire."
She didn't know what else to say, speechless behind the realization that the number of people with whom she thought she'd be spending eternity had just tripled in the span of a couple seconds. She threatened to choke the life out of the man in her arms, a connection to a life that she'd long ago thought had ceased to exist. He had no idea how precious he was.
"Hey, you know what? I'm really pissed at you!" Peter broke her train of thought, shoving her backwards by her shoulders. "I cried at your funeral! I watched your mom go through so much grief, and your dad – I was there for the whole process! Where the hell were you?!?"
She just rubbed his arms, impervious to the change in his mood.
"I was being an idiot and by the time I realized it, it was too late – but right now I'm just so happy to see you!" Nothing could wipe the smile off of her face.
"Claire!" Louisa called from the entrance where she was huddled with a handful of other women. "How many differen' bra sizes did you say y'were able to scavenge?"
"Not many – if you can't find what you need try the sports bras or bikini tops – I've got 'em all grouped together."
"So," Peter brought her attention back, letting go of his anger for the moment but promising himself they'd talk more on the subject later, "I'm to understand you have a…uh… a boyfriend."
"Ooo, that's my cue to exit," Olivia muttered at Claire's mortified grimace, opting to step away and help Kelly move a disabled Belinda.
"Heh… yeah… that…"
"Uh huh, yeah – that's gonna require some explanation. How the hell did that happen?"
"Well, that's kind of a long story, actually -"
"Claire," Kelly interrupted, "do we have any extra towels or rags? Olivia? Yes – follow Jesse, he can show you to the kitchen – will you put some water on to boil?"
"I had them stacked where the extra bedding was – I can show you -"
"No, I can get them, thank you," she replied, smiling warmly to a spot somewhere over Claire's shoulder, her expression making it very obvious that she was not to accompany her. Claire turned her chin, following the woman's line of sight, and the rest of the world – with its continuous echoing drone and perpetually busy herd of refugees – dropped away, as if concealed by a blissful fog. With slender, leonine grace he dropped his feet to the ground, smiling a pearly, dimpled, mussy-headed grin to someone who was addressing him, with only a sliver remaining of the predator he used to be – just a background hue that no one else would recognize but her, and it was nothing she'd ever trade. It was a testament to his courage and his struggle, and it made him the man she fell in love with. A tiny blue spark snapped in the air between them when she caught his eye and the conversation he'd been having was immediately forgotten. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and parted his lips as he soundlessly mouthed her name, then he lifted one hand, reaching with an impatient need to place his skin next to hers. It was all the impetus she needed – she was happy to oblige him.
Tearing away from Peter's proximity, she broke into a run as Gabriel pushed his way clear of a few stragglers. Unaware of how close they'd come to being crushed by a short, blonde freight train, the unsuspecting bodies shuffled away in the nick of time just as she collided against him, leaping into his embrace and wrapping her legs around his waist. A moan of pleasure having been knocked from his chest, he clamped one arm around her and dug his fingers firmly under one of her thighs, twisting the other hand into her luxuriously silky hair. He froze and pressed her to him, content to do nothing more than simply breathe in her scent. This girl was no dream. She was very real. And she had no idea… the things he wanted to do to her…
…or maybe she did, judging by the peppered trail of kisses she left against his neck, trailing toward his earlobe… the corner of his mouth… She fell away to plant both feet firmly on the floor and he cupped her face between both of his hands, his fingers stroking her temples as he smothered her mouth with his own. She balled her fists into his shirt, fighting to get him as close as she could for their lack of seclusion, returning his kiss with fervent passion. She pushed her tongue into him and sucked at him, pulling him to her, the moistening confluence of her thighs humming with unfulfilled desire.
Chest heaving, he pulled away, gasping for breath, rumbling a low chuckle in his throat that only she could hear. He rolled his forehead against hers, stroking her neck, collarbones, and shoulders, dipping his long, thick eyelashes down to brush against her eyelids.
"I have a present for you."
"Mmmmm…?" Please let it be your dick in a box.
She felt him shift, retracting one arm to bend around behind him shortly before something large, cold, and metallic was placed in her hands. Taking a step back she opened her eyes to stare down Mike's gun, solid and formidable, doing its best to fill the void that Harley's loss had left in her. It did a damned good job – she blinked away happy tears.
"Oh… oh my god… it's so beautiful," she peered up at him wetly. "I just… oh, I love it!!!"
Inciting a few startled shrieks she swung the weapon high in outstretched arms, not quite locking her elbows as she drew a steady, confident aim on a nondescript spot on the ceiling. She felt complete – it was probably the happiest day of her life.
"I dub thee Anubis," she whispered, "child of Isis, Herald of the Dead."
Gabriel would've found the proclamation a tad morbid if she wasn't so cute.
~*~*~
Hushed starlight blanketed the house with tranquil, twinkling nightfall, a satiating dinner having come and gone. Safe and happy people were content to play cards or curl up for the first bit of restful sleep to be enjoyed in a long while. A bone-weary exhaustion tugged at Claire's joints as she sunk into the chair at the dining room table, blowing a sigh of fulfillment while leaning forward on her elbows to examine the object about which Peter and Kelly were conversing, innocently taking up space amidst their quiet speech. It appeared to be a clear, plastic bag filled with an unexceptional sort of colorless liquid. She took her uncle's fingers and delivered to them a familial tug, still marveling over the good fortune the day had bestowed her.
"It's amazing such a battle could be waged over something so small…"
"And it's even smaller than this," Peter answered her, "the real culprit is the antibody it contains. Microscopic." He prodded at it with one finger.
"How is this going to be enough?" Claire's impetuousness got the better of her.
"Sylar said on the way here that this was a fully functioning colony," he returned and Claire smiled to herself, tickled to hear her lover referred to using the antiquated moniker. "Which means that there is a Federal office here, and a Federal laboratory."
"That's the second best news I've heard all day," Kelly smiled. "Aside from this injection. It'd be a lot easier to practice medicine having access to a real facility."
"We're gonna need it," Peter said. "We've got to be able to synthesize this formula if we're gonna start liberating mods and bringing them here."
Claire drew her brows together.
"So… the plan is to go back out there? And save people?"
"I think that's the responsible thing to do, yes. It doesn't feel right to just leave them all behind out there…"
That wasn't the part that concerned her.
"No, of course not. I can come with you guys this time though, yes?" Peter met her level gaze, seeing easily the point she was driving. "I wasn't exactly born to be a damsel, Peter, and I'm a better shot than most – I've had a lot of practice."
Peter grinned at the fierce combination of Petrelli and Bennett.
"Claire, it would be my honor to have you there with me. I can't think of anyone better."
She smacked her hand down on the table in satisfaction.
"Now that's the second best thing I've heard all day!" she beamed, standing to take her leave – she had a little celebration on her mind. She tiptoed her way into the kitchen where she climbed a short stool, digging into a cabinet where she'd stashed her treasured bottle of wine. Laying it gently in a basket coupled with a corkscrew and two delicate goblets, she forged an undeterred path to the generator room where she knew she'd find him, diligently working to extend the dome and grant their emigrants a much needed new home. And while she knew there was much they would need to do tomorrow… there was at least one more thing she wanted to accomplish before she went to sleep.
She stifled a throaty chuckle when she reached him, butterflies flip-flopping in her belly, not yet wanting to alert him to her presence, only wishing to watch him for a few moments. The upper half of his body was obscured by the intimidating bulk of the machinery, but his legs, bent at the knee, were clearly visible, one foot lightly tapping a song he hummed in his head. A toolbox on the far side of the room had been toppled over, spilling its contents into a wide arc across the floor. She took a few silent steps toward it, intent on gathering the mess, but stopped short when his arm suddenly shot into view. A long, slender screwdriver slid across the polished cement until it reached his waiting fingers. She crept a little closer, curious to see if he picked the right one, thrilled to see he hadn't when his long, fuzzy arm reappeared. Another screwdriver – one with a different head – wiggled next to her right foot, preparing to take flight, but she interrupted it's trajectory by stepping on it. The extended arm was joined by a confused face whose eyes widened at the sight of the perpetrator inhibiting his progress.
"Good evening, Superman, I think you've worked long enough." She shook the dangling basket, listening to the crystal sing as the glasses rocked against each other. "I have a present for you this time."
He licked his lips and eyed the wicker container suspiciously, crawling out from where he'd been tucked and raising to his full height. He crossed to an industrial sink near her and washed the grease from his hands.
"What is it?" he chimed, curiosity darkening the glistening pools of his eyes as he toweled himself dry. He accepted the bottle she handed him, turning it over to read the label. Recognizing the inside joke, his eyes slid shut with self-recriminating laughter.
"Don't you just love a good pinot…" his whisper echoed from a distant well of memory.
"To be honest," she moved forward with what she'd wished she'd been able to say at the time, "I'm more of a Riesling sort of girl, and I know that surprises you," she didn't conceal her sarcasm, "but I've also occasionally been known to enjoy a late harvest cab."
"I can appreciate a good cab," he tossed back, stepping to tower over her in mock-challenge, one she was eager to accept. She didn't even jump when the cork popped, by itself.
"Should've known I wouldn't need to bring this thing," she gestured toward the unused corkscrew occupying the bottom of the basket.
"So why the pinot if you're not a big fan?"
"Well, for starters it's aged, probably rather nicely and… I guess it's kinda cathartic, in a way. A little can't hurt, can it?"
"Not in the least," he purred, reaching for one lovely, long-stemmed goblet, pouring into it a liberal dose of the flawless, crimson spirit. She set the basket on the floor, trading the remaining empty glass for the other, waiting patiently for him to fill it as well.
"A toast," he began, telekinetically jamming the cork back into the bottle before replacing it to its resting spot.
"Claire?" a voice called from upstairs. "Are you down here? We're looking for socks."
She smashed her hand over Gabriel's mouth before he could sound any sort of response.
"Shhh," she hissed. "I just want a little privacy."
"Follow me."
They snaked, holding hands, through the chamber to the hangar's yawning cavern, giggling as they scrambled up the back ramp into the cargo ship's rear bay. Gabriel started the motor that retracted the door while Claire stalked over to the cockpit, polarizing the viewport so that no one could see inside. Before he'd finished she retraced her steps to where a couple fold-out cots lined the bulkhead, useful for drivers who spent long hours shuttling goods back and forth. She pulled one down and had a seat, making herself comfortable, calming her jittery nervousness over the big step she was about to take.
When he joined her, he didn't sit – she wasn't the only nervous one, although he was doing a fabulous job at masking it. She had to admire his restraint – she was acutely aware this man had wanted her for hundreds of years, ever since he'd made some dumb speech to her about lions and cubs… and she'd accused him of being in love with her. She'd been right the whole time. But this night wasn't going to be about teasing or cruelty. This night was going to be about generosity and need. She lifted her glass, ready to get the party started.
"You were saying, a toast?"
He mimicked her pose.
"Yes. A toast. To the conquering of a difficult past, and the promise of a far distant future."
She tilted her chin and nodded.
"Lovely."
She hadn't heard a word he'd said. She had been referring to his eyes, which she held as she sipped her wine, lifting the shimmering rim over her nose, fogging her senses with the flavor, the aroma, and the belly-warming effect of the alcohol. It tasted… old.
"Hmm…" he wrinkled his nose. "This… not so good."
"It tastes like grape-flavored dust," she giggled with a snort.
"Probably a poor vintage," he held his dregs aloft, examining them in the wan light of the console, "maybe from Pisces where the climate's too wet -"
His jaw stopped working. She'd drained her glass with one mighty swig, removed her shirt, then unclasped her bra, dropping it away. She sucked her lips into her mouth before dragging her tongue across them, removing any lingering droplets of the wine. A blush crept into his cheeks as he fought to keep from devolving into an awkwardly timid teenager, swallowing the remainder of his goblet, trying keep from grabbing at her to drool all over her boobs. But then, it was cool in the cavern and her nipples began to perk…
"I've seen those before," he rasped with husky nonchalance. She stood slowly. One step forward brought her close enough to take his glass from him. She laid them considerately into the pilot's chair before returning to confront him. He released a startled puff of air when she took his hand and guided it toward her left breast – she was grateful for its warmth.
"Yeah, I know, but you've never touched them. I think I'd remember."
"Yeah, me too."
What she didn't know was precisely how many times he'd dreamed of this moment – his imagination was intimately aware of how Claire's breast should feel against his hand, but the reality far exceeded the expectation. He silently prayed to the powers that be to please let him give this radiant woman at least one orgasm before he succumbed to the oblivion of his own climax… which was gonna happen pretty damned soon if she didn't stop… oh…
She brought herself close enough that their shoulders were nearly touching. He could only stare at her dumbly, feeling her breath billow against his neck, while she drew his other hand to cover the opposite breast. She compressed his fingers, coaxing him to instinctually massage the soft mounds of flesh, and he lightly dragged his thumbs across both nipples. She let her head fall back as she sighed in ecstasy. Without hesitation, he took the invitation and dropped his mouth to her throat, sliding his tongue along its silky expanse before pressing a kiss underneath her earlobe, by the elegant line of her jaw. The moan with which she rewarded his efforts caused him to lose his battle against his desire – his body quaked with a sudden intense need to taste every inch of her. She was finally his. He acted the only way he knew how.
He flung her against the bulkhead, pinning her in place, driven by the 'yesss' that she ground between her teeth. Pushing himself between her legs, he latched his suckling lips onto one nipple, working on it to the point that it might cause a pain she couldn't feel, but soothing it all the same with slow, continuous laps of his tongue. He kissed his way over to the other, divulging upon it equal treatment. He allowed her enough freedom to wrap her arms around him and thread her fingers through his hair, and she drew her knees up along his ribcage, grinding her throbbing genitals against the hollow of his belly. It was time to get those pants off.
His fingers made short work of the button and the zipper, and he stepped back only long enough to rip the cloth away, panties and all, before he was back on her, feeling her stomach ripple with her rapid breath. He smoothed his hands up her trembling thighs as he let his mouth glide, leaving a hot wet trail from her chest, down to her navel, and down further still, so low she could rest her knees on his shoulders. He worshipped her there, leaving offerings of kisses at the altar of her femininity, slipping both thumbs in supplication to separate her quivering folds.
"Oh my god, oh yes please…"
Having received permission, he dipped his tongue inside her, coating the tip of his nose with the juices that had begun to collect there. He continued forth to the engorged little bundle of nerves that was desperate for his attention. She cried out as he took it into his lips and paid prodigious homage to it with his tongue. She clawed at him, or anything in reach, like she hadn't received oral sex in decades. She writhed beneath him, arching her back, gasping for air, when she finally decided she'd had enough and it was her turn to explore.
"Down," she mewled to him, "down…"
He let her feet smack to the floor but was unprepared as she bombarded him, shoving against his chest with all her might, hard enough that he toppled backwards onto the cot. She pounced on him immediately, straddling him and yanking his shirt over his head with one talented motion, raking feral bites across his collarbones. He cupped the backs of her thighs, eager to press his aching groin against her hovering middle when one urgently searching hand stuffed its way into his pants, gripping his penis hard before feverishly stroking it. She hummed with approval when the shock escaped from his throat. But the erection had enlarged to the point it was beginning to border on pain…
"Claire," his voice cracked as she continued her assault. "Claire – it's over four hundred years old and it hasn't exactly seen a lot of business, so, uh, maybe you could be gentle?"
She pushed herself up, filling his view with her golden mane cascading in layers around her face, and she nibbled on her own wicked smile.
"Take off your pants."
"Yes ma'am."
He did as he was told.
He was instantly gratified as she covered the twitching, pulsing organ with her own warm, moist sex. Their eyes locked when just the tip of it popped inside her, panting in unison, blinking as they both realized the significance of what was happening. She was salvation. She was absolution. She had forgiven him. She loved him. The future wasn't carved in stone, and they could be whoever they wanted – together. She placed her hands in his, entwining their fingers as she pushed him in the rest of the way.
She didn't even try to be quiet as he thrust into her, over and over. To hell with the world, let them hear. Let them know how they felt, let them smile at each other knowingly as they watched the ship rock, still hovering above the ground. Let them hear her yell his name. Let them know who made her body feel like this.
Underneath her, he bared his teeth, sweat dotting his forehead as he rammed into her, hard enough to make her breasts bounce, spreading an expression across her face that was a mixture of joy, open-mouthed wonder, and something that looked a little like relief, like he was scratching an itch she just couldn't reach.
"Oh… oh god… oh don't stop don't stop don't stop…"
He held his breath, he curled his toes, he clamped his eyes shut, he was going to explode.
And then she dropped her jaw and straightened her spine, and her legs jerked rigidly as fluttering gyrations climbed up and down him inside her, and she lost her voice unable to scream any louder. He couldn't hold it any longer. Hot on the heels of her orgasm he followed, digging his fingers into her hips as he speared her and poured himself into her, crying and whimpering with every subsequent spasm.
She lowered her forehead to rest on his damp chest, shoving her hands underneath him, enveloping and comforting him as he continued to twitch.
"I've got you," she whispered, "I've got you."
When his breath stopped shaking and his limbs grew heavy, he rested them across her back, unwilling to let her move and separate herself from him… not just yet. He wasn't ready.
"Wow…" she murmured, tickling his skin. He could only stroke her hair and chuckle, the deep vibration lulling her into a complacent, satiated sort of trance. "I've been alive a long time," she went on, just barely within the realm of coherency, "but I think that was the most spectacular, uh…" she spared a glance to the console behind her, "four minutes of my entire life."
This earned her a hearty laugh.
"We could stay here tonight," he begged.
"Hmmm…?"
"Stay. Here. In the ship. Together. I'm not ready to go back in there. And… I don't wanna sleep alone… not after…"
"Oh no, no… no, certainly – let's stay here."
"Thank you."
"Mmmm…"
"I love you, Claire."
"I love you too, Gabe."
~*~*~
They leave the surf together, hair dripping salt into their eyes as they collapse to the sand, mindful to get the grainy junk rinsed off before they go back to work in the house down the beach. It had been so hot in there, the break was needed – that and a cold beer… which had been tossed when she ran… oh well. It had been worth the exertion. He's resting on his elbows over her now, pelting her with light rain from his body, breathless as he caresses the tip of his nose down her breastbone. She smoothes her fingers over his shoulder blades, under his ribs, to circle around the back of his neck. He lifts his eyes to peer deeply into hers. She ponders the question Peter had asked her one more time – how did this happen, this thing that blossomed to life between them? Slowly, that's how. Very slowly.
"You flip a mean pancake," she whispers, dragging one thumb over his lips. It's as flavorful as the sea when he kisses it. "It's incredibly sexy."
She entwines a leg with his as he covers her, pressing his face to her neck.
"You're gonna make me unlivable."
"You already are – no one could live with you but me."
He hushes that sassy mouth with a kiss, grateful every time she lets him.
"I had a dream once…"
"Mhmm?"
"We had sex in the water."
"Are you asking if we have time for a quickie?"
"Maybe later tonight, when everyone's asleep." He'd been worried about spectators then too.
They stay like this for weeks, detoxifying homes and hacking through the jungle to find the lab. They're growing a new colony, a new culture, a new life. It's something to fight for. Shortly thereafter they make their first trip back into what they're deciding to call the 'Old World' – the first stop is Leo, not just to rescue their beleaguered brothers and sisters, but because it's also a neat idea to maybe incorporate some pilfered livestock into their plans because not all humans are happy perpetually living as vegetarians, despite Arturo's best intentions.
Blazing a trail of bullets and mayhem, Claire fights side by side with everyone she loves for what she knows is right – she is Isis, Protector of Lost Children, consort to her equal, Osiris the God of Love and Eternal Life.
And so it was to be, hundreds of years later during times of hardship, mothers would still tell their children that all good things come to those who wait, and if they do, then someday the angel – Gabriel – will swoop out of the sky to collect them, and fly them away to Paradise.
Fin
Thanks again, all - I love you!