[drabble] Reckoning...
I got a bit bored and bit inspired. So, my very first foray into Heroes fanfic!
The world was a desolate place, now. Her long, blonde hair whipped around her as she stood at the top of the ridge, looking out at Odessa, Texas. Odessa. It used to be her home, so many years ago. Nothing remained but the scattered foundations of buildings, and her heart sank as she saw the crumbled ruins of the tower she used to jump off, testing her abilities time after time.
Behind her, the stark white crosses glowed in the dimming light. A man was crouched, his fingers pressed to the letters of one marker after another. She moved quietly to the only blank one; he had been the first one, buried without a name. Too dangerous, even in death, for a proper marker.
"I love you dad..." she whispered, not bending, not touching the fading wood. "I'll make this right. We'll make this right."
She went to the man, her hand going to his shoulder, firm and commanding. "Just a few more minutes," he told her softly, not moving to look at her.
"There's nobody left, Peter." She was cold, she had to be. "Nothing and nobody. Why dwell on the past," her fingers toyed with the hilt of the sword at her side, passed to her from dying hands, "when we can change it?"
The wind whistled as the embers of the dying day cast ghostly shadows across a ghostly wasteland. Peter's shadow grew long as he rose slowly, but refused to turn to face his niece.
"They took everything from us, Peter." Her voice trembled betraying emotions she did not allow herself to show, she turned to look back out at the wasteland that stretched out toward the horizon. "We have to get it back..."
"Claire," he was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, smoothing down her arms, "even if we do, what then? No matter how it happens, we'll still be here after all of it. It doesn't change the fact that sooner or later, we always wind up alone..."
"Forever..." the word trailed off, carried away with the umber leaves of the fall as she sank against her uncle in a moment of weakness. Her eyes fell, however, on another marker, another father, another loss. She shook her head. There was something marring the white. "No."
She took his hand, the two of them stepping forward together. "Do you remember, Peter?" In tandem, they crouched. "Remember what they did to him?" Fingers interlaced, they reached out to touch the thick, black scrawl. "My father." They caressed the intrusion, the letters seeming to burn their fingertips. "Your brother."
Nathan Petrelli the name cut into the wood read, Claire's thumb dipping into the groove of the 'i'. Below it, the abhorrence they both bore witness to, was burned into the wood with careful precision: He taught me to fly...
She felt Peter pull back, the pain of the past pulling him away from her, into his despair. She gripped his hand, pressing his palm against the writing beneath her own, conjuring the memories of Nathan's brutal murder, hollow skull gaping up at them when they had found him. She forced the vision on Peter.
"It may not matter to you how it happens," she was unrelenting, pushing memory after memory of the bodies on the ridge into his mind, "but it does to me. Remember your brother, your mother, your friends..."
"So what is this, Claire," he demanded weakly, unable to fight against the seemingly young woman's memories, "revenge?"
"No." She rose, taking him with her, releasing his hand and turning to look him directly in the eye. The katana was unsheathed in one fluid movement, the blade glittering in the last rays of light. Her eyes ran along its length, envisioning the justice she would deliver with it, the lives she would save, if only for a while.
Peter stared at her, trying to see a glimpse of the cheerleader he had saved, not far away from where they stood, once up on a time. She was in there, somewhere, buried beneath the sum total of everything she'd lost. He nodded, understanding her, and placed his hand firmly on her shoulder.
"This isn't vengeance, Peter." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "It's a reckoning."
The world was a desolate place, now. Her long, blonde hair whipped around her as she stood at the top of the ridge, looking out at Odessa, Texas. Odessa. It used to be her home, so many years ago. Nothing remained but the scattered foundations of buildings, and her heart sank as she saw the crumbled ruins of the tower she used to jump off, testing her abilities time after time.
Behind her, the stark white crosses glowed in the dimming light. A man was crouched, his fingers pressed to the letters of one marker after another. She moved quietly to the only blank one; he had been the first one, buried without a name. Too dangerous, even in death, for a proper marker.
"I love you dad..." she whispered, not bending, not touching the fading wood. "I'll make this right. We'll make this right."
She went to the man, her hand going to his shoulder, firm and commanding. "Just a few more minutes," he told her softly, not moving to look at her.
"There's nobody left, Peter." She was cold, she had to be. "Nothing and nobody. Why dwell on the past," her fingers toyed with the hilt of the sword at her side, passed to her from dying hands, "when we can change it?"
The wind whistled as the embers of the dying day cast ghostly shadows across a ghostly wasteland. Peter's shadow grew long as he rose slowly, but refused to turn to face his niece.
"They took everything from us, Peter." Her voice trembled betraying emotions she did not allow herself to show, she turned to look back out at the wasteland that stretched out toward the horizon. "We have to get it back..."
"Claire," he was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, smoothing down her arms, "even if we do, what then? No matter how it happens, we'll still be here after all of it. It doesn't change the fact that sooner or later, we always wind up alone..."
"Forever..." the word trailed off, carried away with the umber leaves of the fall as she sank against her uncle in a moment of weakness. Her eyes fell, however, on another marker, another father, another loss. She shook her head. There was something marring the white. "No."
She took his hand, the two of them stepping forward together. "Do you remember, Peter?" In tandem, they crouched. "Remember what they did to him?" Fingers interlaced, they reached out to touch the thick, black scrawl. "My father." They caressed the intrusion, the letters seeming to burn their fingertips. "Your brother."
Nathan Petrelli the name cut into the wood read, Claire's thumb dipping into the groove of the 'i'. Below it, the abhorrence they both bore witness to, was burned into the wood with careful precision: He taught me to fly...
She felt Peter pull back, the pain of the past pulling him away from her, into his despair. She gripped his hand, pressing his palm against the writing beneath her own, conjuring the memories of Nathan's brutal murder, hollow skull gaping up at them when they had found him. She forced the vision on Peter.
"It may not matter to you how it happens," she was unrelenting, pushing memory after memory of the bodies on the ridge into his mind, "but it does to me. Remember your brother, your mother, your friends..."
"So what is this, Claire," he demanded weakly, unable to fight against the seemingly young woman's memories, "revenge?"
"No." She rose, taking him with her, releasing his hand and turning to look him directly in the eye. The katana was unsheathed in one fluid movement, the blade glittering in the last rays of light. Her eyes ran along its length, envisioning the justice she would deliver with it, the lives she would save, if only for a while.
Peter stared at her, trying to see a glimpse of the cheerleader he had saved, not far away from where they stood, once up on a time. She was in there, somewhere, buried beneath the sum total of everything she'd lost. He nodded, understanding her, and placed his hand firmly on her shoulder.
"This isn't vengeance, Peter." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "It's a reckoning."