A.N: Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Well, I'm back now. Pleased with this chapter as the ball's finally starting to roll :) Comments are loved!
Warnings/Disclaimers: Eventual Canon!Paire. Spoilers up to the end of S2 just to be safe. I don't own Heroes. Lyrics belong to Damien Rice.
--
"Leave me out with the waste, this is not what I do.
It's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you.
It's the wrong time for somebody new.
It's a small crime, and I've got no excuse."
--
Curled up in a ball a few weeks later, Claire willed tears to come. Over the past two months, she'd been treated nothing like the human being she was. In fact, Claire wasn't even sure that she felt human anymore.
Humans couldn't be cut open and still be alive to feel the pain, or feel the strange sensation that was their limbs growing back and re-attaching themselves to their body, cell by cell. The people – she used that word in the loosest term – that were experimenting on her had no sense of compassion, no sense of privacy, and no mercy. Any sign of struggle or protest from her had resulted in harsher treatment, so much so that the young woman had given up doing so. That's when she realised that crying was no longer an option; her body simply had no tears left to do so.
A huge, empty feeling had begun to settle itself in Claire's heart and she sighed, turning herself onto her back to stare at the familiar, monotone ceiling. She couldn't go to sleep anymore; her dreams gave her no comfort. The only thing that gave her the semblance of a happy feeling was talking to the man in the cell next door, Adam. He gave her hope in an otherwise desolate existence, and she was grateful for that.
"Claire," she heard his voice call, slow and calm, "Are you alright?"
The girl remained silent; it was a question that didn't require an answer.
Adam shifted in his cell. He seemed on edge tonight, Claire had heard him pacing around just before their meagre dinner was bought to them. She wanted to ask if something was wrong, but words wouldn't come to her.
"Tomorrow morning we'll finally get to see each other face to face," he said finally, as though he'd given it a lot of thought before saying anything.
That caught Claire's attention. She inclined her head slightly towards the side of the wall he was on, brow furrowing, "How'd you know?"
Even to her ears her voice sounded small, engulfed by the padded walls and remembrances of keeping quiet incase it bought her more pain.
"One of the Company girls told me a few days ago, pretty thing, blonde –" Elle, Claire thought miserably, brilliant, "We're going to be used for something special, apparently. It could be our ticket out of here."
The last sentence was said with so much enthusiasm that Claire sighed deeply, "Forget it, Adam, we're not getting out of here."
"My God, Claire, are you hearing yourself?" Adam's voice rang out in annoyance, muffled by the walls, "You sound as though you've given up!"
"Maybe I have," She intoned, sighing and turning back around again, "We're never gonna get out of here."
"That's where you're wrong. I know for a fact that what we're being used for is exactly what we need to escape. All you need to do is trust me."
Something stirred inside Claire that bought the first prickle of tears to her eyes since her first night there. Trust? She knew about trust. Trust was something she'd given to her father to protect her, something she'd even had in her biological father before she'd realised the terrible truth.
Trust was something she gave freely to a hero who'd saved her life at a Homecoming game, only to have her hopes dashed when the days got longer and that same hero failed to appear. That's when Claire realised she could trust in nothing and no-one.
In the cell next door, Adam sighed into the silence, "Fine. But you'll see tomorrow. You can trust me, Claire."
He said the words with such conviction that she wanted to believe him, so she relented, saying the word that would set everything in motion from then on.
"Alright."
The Brit, sitting with his back to one of the walls of the cell, grinned. He knew it wouldn't be long before everything fell into place, exactly how he wanted it to be.
--
Peter ran a hand through his hair, staring bleary-eyed at the computer screen in front of him. He, Sparrow and Hiro had put all their energies into searching for Niki's lost boy, but had come up with nothing. If the Company still had a hold on him, they weren't about to give up the whereabouts any time soon.
"This is hopeless," Hiro muttered, speaking his mind as he always did when Niki was out of the room, "We should give up, Peter."
Part of him agreed, but another part still felt terribly guilty, "I can't," he answered, "She's counting on me to get him back."
The Japanese man sent a look of pity in his direction, "You can't go around with this guilt on your shoulders for the rest of your life. You've got to –"
"Easy for you to say," Peter snapped back, anger rising, "You didn't cause an explosion that killed millions of people!"
Hiro let his friend calm down for a moment before speaking, "Living in the past isn't a good thing, Peter. Saving Micah won't bring Claire back."
"Damn it, Hiro!" Peter slammed his fist hard down onto the table, the force so strong it broke in two, "This has nothing to do with her! Claire's dead. I know that."
"I was just –"
"Well, don't." He retorted, seething. At that point, Niki entered the room, a shocked expression on her face when she noticed the broken table.
"Is everything alright?"
Hiro sent Peter a look, giving a small bow to the blonde before walking out of the room. The scarred man sighed, uncurling his fists and letting the anger disperse from his body, "Sorry, Niki." He said, offering her an apologetic smile.
The woman's face fell, sadness evident in her eyes, "You can't find him."
"No, we're close –"
"Don't lie to me, Peter," Niki's eyes brimmed with tears, taking a step towards him, "Micah's dead, isn't he?"
The man let out a sigh, looking down at the floor, "I don't know, Niki. But I promise I'll keep looking."
She let out a half smile, brushing her tears away hastily, "Why are you doing this for me, Peter?"
There was a gleam in her eyes that hadn't been there before, and Peter could've sworn she'd gotten closer to him within the past few seconds. He'd known her gratitude towards him had turned into some sort of crush, he'd sensed it through her emotions, but he didn't feel the same. He couldn't.
"Well, I…"
But when she was this close, Peter could pretend her blue eyes were green, that her straight hair was softer, that it curled around her face in gentle waves. When her mouth met his, he could close his eyes and picture someone else.
He was kissing Niki, but in his mind, it was Claire. Always Claire.
--
Mohinder felt slightly apprehensive as he walked into the lobby area of Camp Zero. It really did look like some sort of clinic, all starched white with nurses dotted about the place. It was open, friendly, nothing like the facility that was really inside.
"There you are, Professor. Mr Linderman's expecting you."
The scientist spun around to find a brunette in a mini-skirt waiting behind him, a smirk on her face. She inclined an arm and indicated him to follow her.
He was lead into the heart of the camp, the place hidden away from public view and the place where the real objective of the place lay. The woman he'd met in the lobby led him through long corridors of white, some with doors either side. Soon, they'd reached their destination, a spacious laboratory, also decked in white. Mohinder was sure he'd never be able to find his way back to the exit in the maze of rooms and corridors, and that thought worried him.
"Ah, Mohinder. Excellent. Now the real work can begin."
The professor smiled wryly, "Mr. Linderman, I'm only here on the President's instructions."
"Yes, yes," Daniel cut him off, "But I know all this will interest you personally, hmm? How many years has it been since you've gotten your hands dirty?"
The use of words made Mohinder raise an eyebrow, "I've never 'gotten my hands dirty', Sir. I don't intend to start now."
The old man's blue eyes twinkled merrily, "Of course. Now, I want you to meet a few special friends of mine. Candace, bring them in."
An electronic door opened, and Mohinder's heart stopped as he saw who entered into the room.
Flanked by men in white, their wrists bound by handcuffs, were two people. One, a man with short, blond hair, didn't really hold the Indian man's attention. It was the girl beside him that caught his eye.
Claire Bennet.
She looked a shell of her former self. Mohinder hadn't known her that well, had only met her briefly during the Kirby Plaza incident, but he knew her through her father – both her fathers. His heart immediately went out to her when he saw how easily she let the men holding her push her around, her head hanging and dark hair falling across her face.
Linderman was grinning, clapping his hands together gleefully, "Professor, this is Adam Monroe and Claire Bennet. These two are exceedingly special. Immortality, if how long Adam's been alive goes to prove. You can take them away now."
Mohinder swallowed thickly as Claire's eyes caught his for the briefest of moments as she was led out. What he'd said to Nathan had been right; they were going to destroy her. Perhaps they already had.
"To business, Mohinder," Daniel smiled, clapping him on the shoulder, "Now, you know the new laws are coming into play early next year, don't you?"
"Only because of your instruction," the man replied, "A lot of things seem to happen because of that though, doesn't it?"
"We're not here to talk about me, Professor," Linderman warned, waving a hand towards a nearby chair so Mohinder would sit down, "These laws have been approved by the President and Congress, so they are perfectly legal."
The younger man sat down, the apprehensive feeling from earlier still lingering, "What about these laws?"
Daniel settled into a chair of his own, lacing his fingers together, "A few years ago, the original Company set up a prototype of a virus…the same virus, in fact, that your sister, Shanti, died from and the same your daughter, Molly, contracted. We have decided that it should be developed and used to…dispose of any of those with abilities that are, how shall I say it, not useful for our cause."
Mohinder's blood froze, "You want me to develop the Shanti virus to kill people?" He'd known these camps had not been the rehabilitation ones that the Government were advertising, that they were designed to keep captive, torture and kill people with abilities, but this was a step too far.
"Only those whose skills are not needed, my friend."
"I refuse," the man answered back, mind reeling in disgust, "If this virus gets out into the main public, it could destroy us all. It would cause a major epidemic and there would be no cure for it!"
"Ah," Daniel put up a finger, leaning in closer to the shocked and scared Indian Professor, "That's where we really need you, and the two I bought in, as a matter of fact. We have a form of virus that can already be used to our needs but, of course, we don't want it getting outside the facility, for the same reasons as you, Mohinder. That's why we need you to create an antidote for it. After all, it was your blood that cured Molly Walker, wasn't it?"
The Professor's eyes darted about the lab. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was madness, simply madness. How could he perform such a task? Be the reason that people here would die?
"What do…the two inmates have to do with anything?" He asked, rather breathless. If he had to kill Claire, well, he wouldn't do it.
Mr. Linderman chuckled, leaning back in his chair, "They are immortals, Professor, so I would assume they would be good test subjects for both the virus and the antidote."
"But it could kill them!"
The old man sighed, rising from his chair, "That's not my problem now, is it, Mohinder? Say…speaking of Molly, how is she? I'm sure she's missing you very much right now."
For the second time that day, the professor felt his heart stop but, this time, it sank as well. Molly would be in danger if he didn't go through with the task; he understood the meaning behind Linderman's words very well. He had no choice.
With resignation, Mohinder stood to face the man before him, holding out a hand for him to shake, "I'll start right away, Mr. Linderman."
The old man's grin, if possible, got even wider, shaking Mohinder's hand with vigour, "Excellent. I knew we could count on you. And, by the way, call me Daniel."