A/N: Happy volume ending! Thanks for reading.
-- Mel and Chuck
The next day…
I'm irritated as hell.
What should have been a journey of an hour or two on foot to the orphanage turned into a complete fuck-up. It had been snowing when we left and within minutes it became a full-scale white-out, so we went back to wait it out. It finally slowed down, but by then it was dark and the members of my taskforce bitched about it until I said we could visit the orphanage in the morning. All of this has only served to remind me why these people need to be ruled: they're too fucking stupid to govern themselves.
Dani told me last night to stop being 'fussy'. I told her that if she wanted to come with me to the orphanage, she would leave me alone until the morning. She wasn't pleased, obviously—I think the words she used were "touchy, arrogant, over-demanding asshole"—but her thoughts have been focused more on the image of the blonde infant than on anything I say or do.
The five of us now stand a thousand feet away from the outer wall of the orphanage. There are guards posted along the wall, as well as one at the gate. I don't know how many are inside. I'm all for going in guns blazing, but Dani's insisted that she wants to talk to them.
We approach the front gate, where Dani bumps me to one side.
"Hi," she starts, "I'd like to talk to your supervisor. Is he busy?" The guard's face is blank as he works to understand her unusual request, and then breaks into a leer.
"Sure thing, honey. You just have to work out some kind of payment with me first. A toll, see?" He licks his lips greedily, in case she somehow didn't catch his meaning.
"You're gross," she comments matter-of-factly. "But I still need to talk to your boss, so what I'm going to do now is introduce you to my husband. And then you're going to let us in."
His small mind is easy to manipulate, and before we know it, he's smiling like an idiot and taking us to the head guard. We find ourselves in a cramped office with a man who looks no older than Mr. Gray does. His hair is cut close to his scalp and he rubs a hand across the top of his head from time to time.
"Are you with that Jax guy?" he asks without introduction.
"No," I answer firmly, "Jax is my second. He tells me you and your guards won't leave, and I just thought we'd come over to talk about it."
He sneers at that. "Nothing to talk about. We aren't leaving, and I think it's time you did."
"Excuse me," Dani interrupts, "I just wanted to ask you a few things before we get out of your hair."
He grunts and shoulders past us, calling back for us to follow. We do, my wife trotting to catch up to him. He leads us out of the building to a large expanse of snow and rocks that serves as a sort of yard. There are small shelters scattered in this bleak courtyard. The air here smells of waste and rot and fear.
"Sir, are you married? Do you have children?" my wife asks boldly.
"No and no," he says.
"Why are you doing this?"
He stops and looks at her face, his voice low. "Doing what, exactly?"
Dani's eyes are starting to tear up. "Keeping these children here without providing them with love or adequate shelter and food. You're hurting them." Her mind is back to the tiny infant girl with the bracelet—only this time the child is filthy and squalling, alone. She's rapidly losing her cool.
His eyes are deadly serious as he answers her, "I like my job, and I'm good at it. These orphans" –his arm reaches out and snags a young boy who can't be more than eleven—"they're worthless." He shoves the boy away, sending a kick after him.
Dani's mind is reeling and confused. She is shocked by this man's cavalier cruelty. It's time for me to step in. "If you and your men don't leave immediately, we'll be forced to take action here."
The head guard's smile is unnerving, to say the least. "There are only five of you, buddy. Take all the action you want." With those words, we find ourselves in the middle of a full-scale battle, and suddenly I'm getting fleeting thoughts and images so quickly that it's hard to tell which are mine.
I snap a man's neck as I see another raise two huge boulders into the air using only telekinesis, and hurl them Richter's way. Of course, my earthmover laughs and stops the rocks in midair, sending them back the way they came. Richter's attacker is crushed under his own missiles.
I turn to see Gustav moving slowly toward another guard. Much too slowly. What the hell?
He won't even see me coming… He thinks he's moving at full speed. Holy shit.
"Gus, move!" I shout too late. His opponent has confused his senses, and makes short work of him. I slit the bastard's throat before turning to kill the man who just stuck a knife in my back. There are children running around screaming as huts go up in flames, and I can't keep track of anything. Then I see something that makes my heart freeze and my stomach plummet.
It's Dani, lying in the snow with a branch protruding from the back of her head, blood everywhere. Not moving. Not healing.
"No!" I roar, throwing a man twenty feet out of my way to get to her. I drop to my knees at her side and pull the branch from her skull. Heal. Heal, dammit.
"Nonononono…" I barely recognize the frantic voice as my own. But she isn't moving. There is someone hacking at my back and shoulders with what feels like a machete, and I hurl them away from me.
"Shit, Dani, please move!" I beg. I rock back and forth, holding her to my chest. Don't be dead. Don't be dead. My silent pleas are interrupted by a shrill scream. Almost against my will, I look up to see….Dani. My wife is sitting in the snow with tears on her cheeks, sobbing her heart out.
What the fuck? I look down and I see the body in my arms, but Dani's also over there. What is going on?
"Kale!" Afa's now standing above a frozen body, and the image of the woman in my arms disappears. "A nightmare-man," she says helpfully as I clamber to my feet. I look across to see my wife's white face fill with relief at the sight of me, not dead.
I reassess the situation. There's still chaos and juvenile screaming everywhere. Shit. I've fucked this up so badly. We have to finish this, and fast. But there's so much going on I can barely concentrate. It's like I've gone into shock; I don't know what to do.
I see one guard inhale deeply and grin, then reach for Richter and literally tear him into pieces. Jesus Christ.
As quickly as this started, I can feel it slowing down now. Behind me there are men running as fast as they can to get the hell out of here. There aren't too many guards left, but there are only three of us now.
I reach the man who killed Richter, who tries to end me by throwing pieces of the broken wall at me. If I get distracted for a second, I have no doubt he'll dispatch me the way he did my earthmover, and I'm not entirely sure if I can come back from that.
Finally—I don't know how much later—I breathe a sigh; my opponent is dead, and I turn to locate the women. It's only then that I realize that Dani is screaming.
"You fucking bastard!" She has no weapons, no strategy, only her hand-to-hand skills and her fury. Her opponent is a partial empath—he can't tell what others have, so when he chooses to give up one power for another, it's always a gamble. If he were smart, he'd give up what he has and take from Dani. He's currently using Afa's power, and the irony is sickening. Once again, my wife is fighting someone who can freeze chunks of her with every blow she takes. Only this time, Afa's lying on the ground, the gaping hole in her stomach pouring blood onto the surrounding snow. The pistol is lying next to her and that is what the empath is trying to grab, if he could only get past Dani.
Just like before, I step into the middle of the fight, throwing the empath down and holding him fast. If she wants him, she can have him. She looks away, though, to stare at Afa's motionless form. "Oh Afa," she whispers, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't save you." She turns back to the man on the ground, savagely kicking him in the face. She continues to cry as she brings her boot down on his head again and again, finally reaching for the pistol and emptying it into him. Then Dani collapses, and the only thing I can do is hold her against me as she sobs.
This is all my fault. I should have been faster, stronger. I should have planned this better. God, how could this happen? We shake violently, from cold and shock, and eventually I see the dirty faces of children peek out at the carnage. The mission isn't finished, but we don't move for hours.
Five Days Later
The spectacular cluster-fuck that was supposed to have been just another easy takeover, ended in disaster. I lost three valuable soldiers and Dani lost—Christ. Dani lost her only friend. We've both been going over and over it again in our heads since it happened five days ago.
--Shouldn't have insisted on going. I'm so stupid. It's my fault she's dead. What did I think I was going to accomplish? God, I wish I was dead instead. Why aren't I dead? Fuck. All my fault.
I squeeze Dani's hand where she stands beside me, dressed in a pair of black jeans and a somber coat. She's wearing sensible shoes today and her hair is braided tightly behind her. Her nose has turned pink in the cold and I can see half frozen tears on her lovely cheeks.
Flames roar in front of us atop a pyre. There are three of them in a row. We're standing in front of Afa's. Although it's not really Afa anymore. The frozen girl is gone. All that's burning now is wood and dead flesh. I don't think I'll ever be able to get the smell out of my head.
Because really, it's my fault. No matter how much my wife blames herself or how many ways she tries to twist it, it will always be my fault. I could have been more cautious. Should have struck quickly and without warning. I most definitely shouldn't have underestimated the guards. God. I'd gotten cocky and now three people are dead.
The bodies take too long to burn as the crowd holds vigil, and when they have turned to ash, I step up to speak.
A hand on my shoulder stops me. Sylar catches my eye before taking my place in front of the people.
I don't hear most of what he says. Al I catch are random, meaningless phrases like, "Life is too short," "Now is the time," and "Resistance leads to loss." I know he's using these deaths politically. The people were horrified at the bloodshed at the orphanage. Sylar had even brought the parentless children to the funeral, thin and sickly, to illustrate the 'evil' we had fought. Of course its all bull shit for him. He doesn't believe in good and evil, but he wasn't once the leader of the free world for nothing. He knows how to buy, cheat, and steal the hearts of men.
I don't know how long he speaks, but when he's done, people are cheering. The mass disperses quickly, orphans disappearing with appointed care takers who will be monitored by Jax's people once I leave. All but the one.
It's a little thing. Shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes. It's ridiculously thin and the clothes it's wearing are far too large.
Dani was sobbing. Afa was cold in the snow; colder than she'd ever been before. Blood pooled against the white, melting and mixing until we were surrounded by an eerie pink sludge. We stayed there for minutes maybe, crying and holding each other and swearing. It wasn't until someone coughed that we were pulled out of our grief for an instant.
They were watching us. Pale and pinched and starving. Wide eyes as they hid behind bigger kids and crates and bodies. A few of them were crying quietly, tears making tracks down dirty cheeks. The rest were trying to become invisible as we watched. One even managed to achieve it, disappearing and leaving only a set of footprints where he stood. The rest just stared.
The cough came again. It was one of the smaller ones. He was maybe six, emaciated, and bleeding out of the gash in his stomach.
Dani let out a strangled moan and the boy continued watching us, wide eyed through the pain. In that moment, it was as if something that had been broken inside of her fixed itself. I shouldn't have been surprised, my wife was after all invincible, but the resolve I saw form behind those tear filled blue eyes shook me to the core.
"All of you," she'd ordered, voice kind but firm, "we're going to leave here and get you something to eat." She had risen then, hands stained with the same blood I knelt in. "If you are an older child, grab a younger child's hand and make sure you stick together. It's a bit of a walk." She crossed to the bleeding boy then, lifting him in her arms and wincing as he groaned and cried. He'd been hurt in the fight. Had I done that?
The children were used to taking orders. It didn't take much for Dani to have the kids wrapped in the only blankets available (the guards') and ready to leave, including the three young girls she'd found huddled in a filthy mass between the guards' bed sheets.
I flew ahead and brought people back to carry the children who had no older child to help them or who were too weak to walk. All the while, I couldn't get Dani to hand over the wounded boy. She carried him all the way back to camp, silent, almost unnoticeable tears trailing down her beautiful face as she walked through the snow.
Since that night, Dani hasn't let the child out of her side. She tended him herself after the doctor saw him, even donated her blood to heal him when her father arrived and told her it was possible. He's been sleeping fitfully in our tent each night and Dani's been calming him when he wakes up to nightmares. Seeing her that way, brushing dull, ragged brown hair off of his forehead… I can't tell whether it's motherly instinct or grief that's driving her. She couldn't save Afa. I couldn't save Afa. And now Dani's making it her mission to save the child.
I haven't brought up the future with her: how long he'll be staying, what he'll wear, what will happen when we leave this place. I think I'm afraid to break the little bit of peace she finds looking over him. But the consequences of bringing someone else into our family, a mortal child no less, they're looming there right beyond speech.
I come back to myself and we are the only ones left; Dani, the boy, Sylar and I. The rest of the people who knew the dead soldiers have left to grieve in silence as custom dictates. They will not speak again until the morning, and neither will we.
Sylar nods to me stiffly and hugs his daughter, face blank before taking to the sky. Dani watches the dying fire for a bit longer before turning and grabbing first my hand and then the child's. We move away without speaking and I can hear their thoughts with each step.
Keep moving, Dani. Move. God. Afa. Oh God. Move. Left, right, left, right.
And from the child: -- warm hand. Soft. Like that one time the big kid—soft. Hungry. Not hungry? Stomach feels weird. What is it? Lady crying. Like Gottie when the mean man came and took her to a bed.
I listen to his mind race. He doesn't know I can hear, and he hasn't spoken since we took him from the camp. From what I've heard I gather he hasn't spoken since he arrived at the camp four months earlier. We don't even know his name and the only reason we know his ability is because he accidently set his blanket on fire the first night we had him.
We reach the tent and feed the boy silently, solemnly. Dani has to leave half way through the meal because she doesn't want to cry at the little table. I put him to bed alone, suggesting quietly in his head that he's tired and needs to go to sleep now. I follow my own advice soon after, finding Dani between our sheets as the boy breaths steadily on the other side of the tent.
We keep the silence as we hold each other. Between quiet sobs she kisses me.
I love you. I love you so much. Kale. Please. Make love to me. Make me forget it hurts.
I oblige, tenderly moving beneath the blankets and stroking and kissing until all she's thinking about is what's surrounding her in the moment. I stifle her moans with my lips and we cry together as we come, tears and sweat mingling with our breaths.
JANUARY 2542
Since the orphanage, it seems like we've been moving in slow motion. We didn't linger in Winnipeg for long after the funeral--we still have to deal with the rest of the continent, in spite of the grief. But moving...it helped, I think. Coming farther south took us away from the constant reminders of what happened up north. Well. Almost all of the reminders.
An unintelligible shriek tears from Mik's lips as he pulls away from Dani and runs a few feet away, his hands spontaneously lighting up. Dani growls in frustration as she stalks toward him menacingly. As far as I can tell, she's trying to clean him up before bed, but the little kid seems to like the mud he's smeared all over himself. He holds the fire in his hands before him like a shield, not realizing that Dani's going to go right through it.
"Dammit, Mik," she grumbles, ignoring the flames as she lifts him bodily and dumps him in the tub. The woman who used to own this house is dead now, a member of the violent faction that was opposed to our takeover. It's been nice, having an actual house to stay in when we're not restructuring the society here. But we'll be leaving soon, moving on to the next city. My thoughts are interrupted by another howl.
"I don't think he ever bathed before he came with us," Dani says as she scrubs his brown hair with soap. He wriggles in protest, speaking volumes about his opinion of baths without saying a word.
The little orphan still doesn't talk much. He makes noises that are pretty easy to interpret, and will occasionally pipe up in one-word sentences, but that's about it. It doesn't bother me—I can hear everything he's thinking anyway, but it gets on Dani's nerves, since she can't always tell if he understands her.
She lifts him from the tub and towels him off before he makes a break for the front door, wanting to be back outside. I grab Mik's arm before he can reach his goal and swing him up into my arms.
"Clothes, Mik," I tell him as he ceases his gibberish sounds. I think he might be afraid of me. Not that I've ever done anything to him—he's six, for God's sake—but I'm an adult male, and therefore too similar to the prison guards he learned to fear. Dani's a more unfamiliar authority figure; he trusts her more, but also tests her limits pretty much all the time.
I hand the naked child to my wife, who sighs and dresses him for bed, tucking him in and kissing his forehead. "Good night, Mik. That means you have to stay in bed and go to sleep." His pout suggests that this idea might be too optimistic tonight. A quiet thought from me and he's out.
He's so sweet when he's like this, Dani thinks. Adorable and quiet.
Shit. I put this talk off for too long already, out of respect for her emotional state, but this is getting out of hand.
"Dani, can we talk in the kitchen?" I request quietly. Her face is empty of suspicion, a light smile on her lips. That's going to make this so much worse.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asks as we sit at the table. I rub my face with an open hand. Normally I'd just dive in, but that probably isn't the best approach for this.
"Mik's a lot of work. I can see that. He's wearing you out."
She shakes her head reluctantly. "No. I mean, yes, he's more than I'm used to, but it's nothing I can't handle." She looks up at me, her face unsure. "I'm doing fine. He's safe. And happy."
"Of course he is," I tell her soothingly. "You're doing a great job. But is it a job that you want to be doing for the next ten or twelve years?"
Oh God, no. "He won't always be six," she hedges. "He'll grow up, and then things will get a little less hectic."
"Are you kidding? Dani, do you remember what you were like at eleven? Seventeen? There will always be something going on with him. Raising Mik isn't going to get easier just because he grows older." She's looking down at her knees, lips pressed together. I give her a second before I go on.
"Baby," I lift her face so I can look her in the eyes, "Mik's going to grow old. Do you really want to watch that?" I feel like a total asshole, saying these things to her. But I know she doesn't really want to be a mother yet, and I know she's using Mik as a way to forget everything else that happened at the orphanage.
Dani shakes her head slowly, the first tear coursing down her cheek. "He's going to die," she whispers miserably. "He's going to die no matter what I do." I can't stand to see her sitting there looking so forlorn, so I pull her into my lap and rub her back.
"You saved his life, Dani. You saved him from that place and from dying that day. But he won't live forever."
"I know," she sniffles. The small room is almost silent before I continue speaking.
"There's a couple here in the city who have said that they would like to take him when we leave. They don't have any other children, but they want to. They could be his family."
The blonde head resting on my shoulder shakes hysterically. "I don't want to give him up."
"Baby, you can't make Afa's death go away by taking care of Mik. What happened up north was not your fault." I swallow hard. "It was mine, Dani. You can't make this kid penance for something you didn't do."
She cries harder. "I don't want to be his mother." Her words are interrupted by a stray hiccup. "But I would feel awful pushing him off on someone else. He'd hate me."
"He won't hate you. He doesn't even have to remember you at all." Her sobs quiet as she contemplates all this.
"We're leaving in a few days, then?" I nod. "And they want him—he'll be happy?" Another nod.
"Okay." She clings to me and starts to weep again. "I just miss her so much."
APRIL 2542
Mexico is hot, but peaceable. We've been in the area for a little over a week and already the locals have begun to adopt the societal changes we've made; after all, it's not like they had much in the way of a government set up anyway. The southerners had always been more local, more superstitious, and more likely to follow religious leaders and shamans than they were to follow a political one. And so, when Sylar had shown up with a display of power so awesome even the most powerful of the natives were cowering, and a few words about God and godhood in general, he had won their hearts.
So for once, we have nothing to do.
We're living in what can only be described as a mansion. As I understand it, one of the most prosperous locals had volunteered it after a few suggestive comments from my men, so Dani and I inhabit the second floor now with its three baths, six bedrooms, kitchen, and library. Twelve soldiers live raucously on the floor beneath us.
Still, even surrounded by splendor, I can't seem to bring Dani out of her slump.
Ever since we left Mik and Afa behind us, she's been quiet. It's as if someone went in with a snuffer and put out the Dani light, the one that made her selfish and petulant and radiant and the woman I fell in love with. And I'm trying, God knows I'm trying, but some days I feel so goddamned hopeless I want to run into the street and scream, or shake her until her teeth rattle and something dislodges inside of her and falls back into place and she's who she was before.
But I'm trying to be patient, because Mr. Gray told me that was what had worked for him, and because I love Dani more than I love myself, and if she needs to be sad for a while, I can deal with it.
Still, that doesn't mean I can't try to help. That's why I'm here tonight, lighting candles and searing meat on a stove, dressed in nothing but a ridiculously frilly apron and waiting for Dani to get back from the local orphanage where she's been playing with the local children all day.
I hear some men shouting bellow. Someone whistles (must be Dunbar, I'll have to remember to punish him later) and Dani's high heels click on the hardwood of the stairs. I can imagine her more conservative knee length skirt hugging her ass and every pair of eyes in the room watching as she ascends. Assholes.
I feel a momentary flutter of panic in the pit of my stomach as the door to our floor is opened and her heels echo across the floor. I've never done anything like this before. It's really more Dani's forte, I only ever considered it because she did it once and I thought the memory might make her smile.
I set the last utensil on the table and glance over at one of the mirrors in the room, running a finger through my hair to make sure it's not out of place before I panic for a second wondering what I should do and then make the hasty decision to just lean against the counter and hope to God she doesn't think I'm some sort of god-damned fruitcake because of this, although even if she did it would be an excellent excuse to prove to her in numerous positions and locals that I'm not.
She comes through the kitchen door, head hung wearily and shaking her blonde curls loose over one shoulder as she begins to unbutton her shirt.
"I'm home," she says before looking up, "Sorry it took so long. There were a few kids there who--" but then she looks up and sees me leaning by the stove, legs bare and completely exposed beneath the bright blue and yellow pattern of the apron. Her eyes widen and I have to force myself not to read her thoughts. I've learned lately that sometimes it's not worth the heartache.
"Surprise," I say huskily, straightening up and adjusting the cloth of the apron. I feel myself swing, exposed between my thighs as the apron flutters and Dani's breath catches.
For a while, I can't tell what she's feeling; I'm not even sure that she can. I stand there awkwardly, tapping my fingers against the tops of my thighs and trying to grin roguishly. I think the smile comes out as more of a grimace.
Finally I can't take it anymore, so I clench my eyes shut tight and count back from ten.
Dani doesn't say anything.
"Look, this was a stupid idea, I'm sorry—"
But before I can finish what I'm trying to say she runs forward, kicking off her heels and jumping to wrap her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck. I catch her with little effort and her skirt bunches up around her ass.
"Dani, I—"
And then she's kissing me and I can't talk because my tongue is in her mouth and she's bouncing in front of me and I'm getting hard, so I listen in to her thoughts and all I hear is a breathless sort of relieved laughter that's mirrored on her face if I can just stop kissing her long enough to see.
We move quickly and soon I have her laid out across the table, shirt torn off and skirt around her waist as I draw her panties to the side and all the hard work I put into dinner is scattered across the floor of the kitchen.
"Jesus, I've missed this," I say, nipping at her chin and taking off the ridiculous apron and making a mental note to burn it later.
"Me too," she sighs, "Maybe you should cook dinner more often. You look good in women's clothing." She's teasing, but I growl any way, just to show her I'm a man, and bite the underside of her jaw.
"I'm sorry I've been distant," she says suddenly. I still above her long enough to give her one of those impossible to interpret glares I learned from her mother and then go back to kissing her because the feel of her skin beneath my lips is heaven.
And soon, all either of us can hear is the creaking of the table and the slap of flesh against flesh as I make love to her, burying my length between her thighs with ardor as she mewls and whimpers, crying even as her nails dig into my neck and my back and my ass. And she's impossibly heated and I think I taste tears on my face, but I'm not sure who they belong to as I press my cheek to her heaving breast.
"I love you," I murmur, rocking inside of her as she rocks around me and everything about this moment is made achingly real.
"Love you too," she breathes, panting as my lips find hers again and we explode. And now we're free from sadness and anger, from conquest and vengeance; together for this moment that feels like infinity.
END VOLUME FOUR