Gilded Genesis :: Chapter 2 :: Don't Look Back
Title: Gilded Genesis :: Chapter 2 :: Don't Look Back
Author: rebelle_elle
Artist: therisingmoon
Word Count: 3,417
Rating: PG
Type: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Simone Deveaux, Peter Petrelli, Charles Deveaux, Isaac Mendez, Elle Bishop, Emma Coolidge, Hesam, Audrey Hanson, Matt Parkman, Samson Gray, (Chandra Suresh), (Molly Walker), (Judith Forsythe)
Warnings (sexual context, non-con, violence, strong language, characters death, etc) None
Summary:
Simone Deveaux is given bad new about her father by Peter Petrelli, who begins to wonder if he can fly. Meanwhile, painter Isaac Mendez is worried about the paintings he can't remember doing and more worried by what they might mean. Elle Bishop claims another victim, and two agents square off over a body one of them doesn't even realize is there.
Simone gave the dweeby guy a sympathetic smile as she passed. She’d been able to hear enough from her table that she felt bad for him, even if she couldn’t blame the blonde. They didn’t look like they were from the same planet, much less the same city. Though she felt as if she’d seen them somewhere before… Oh, well. It was New York. That was bound to happen.
She left him sitting alone and headed for the hospital, glad to see which nurse was on duty when she entered her dad’s hospital room. “Peter.” It had been awkward at first having Peter as Dad’s nurse. Their families were close enough that her dad had donated to Nathan’s campaign and even tried to mentor him to an extent. She had seen Peter at parties since they were children, often from across the room as he sat forlornly at the children’s table on child entertainment duty. They’d separated for the most part once they reached high school, but now that she’d gotten to know him better, she doubted there was a better nurse at Mercy Heights.
He turned, and for a moment she got the impression he was checking her out, but then he was looking at her dad’s clipboard and the moment was past. “Simone. Hey.”
“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns.” She looked behind Peter at the figure in the bed, looking so much frailer than he had as little as a month ago. His hair was going gray, and he’d lost weight. His skin had taken on a chalky undertone.
“Dad, you’ve only got one daughter.”
“That you know about,” he teased.
She exhaled harder than necessary, disgruntled. How dare he make light of the situation.
“Always so serious,” he muttered.
Simone pursed her lips and turned back to Peter. “Could I talk to you in the hall?” Peter nodded, and she led the way, her arms crossed and her boots clopping against the linoleum. “So what’s wrong with him? What can you do?”
Peter looked at her and hesitated, and in that moment, she knew. She took a step back. “No.”
“I’ve called hospice,” Peter admitted, seeming almost ashamed of himself. “Simone, look. This is something you should be talking about with his doctor, and I’m just a nurse.”
Simone shook her head. She’d barely seen Dr. Mitchell. Peter was the one who had been with her dad since Charles had been rushed to the hospital after Simone had found him on his floor, gasping for breath. “Tell me.”
Peter hesitated again, running a hand through his hair. “The fact is, Charles is just… old. There’s no cancer to work on, no pacemaker to install… His body has just decided it’s time to go.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth and held it there tightly. Maybe if she didn’t breathe, she wouldn’t be able to cry.
“I think he’s decided it’s time to go, too,” Peter said gently. “He’s not surprised by it. He’s been telling me that he’s lived a full life.”
Simone sniffled and tried to pull herself together, ignoring the stinging in her eyes. “How much time does he have?”
Peter shrugged. “I’d guess a month or two. Hospice specializes in this, though. They’ll narrow it down for you.”
She nodded even though she knew she wouldn’t remember enough of this later.
“I wrote it down,” Peter told her quietly. He handed her a notepad where he’d written several pages of notes in somewhat legible chicken scratch. “I was talking about it with Charles, and those are some things we figured you might need to know.”
Simone read over the notes, keeping her eyes down and trying to ignore the lump in her throat. She was strong. She could do this. She didn’t have a choice. Her eyes threatened to spill over, and she looked up before they had the chance. Ever since her mother had died, she’d tried to be strong for her dad, and now he was going to need her to be stronger than ever. There would be time to cry later. “And there’s nothing-”
Peter shook his head. “Dr. Mitchell will be by soon to tell you the same thing. But I knew you wouldn’t want to wait.” He bit his lip for a moment. “He’s a great guy, Simone.”
She tried not to scoff. “I think he feels the same way about you.”
He grinned, and she noticed again that his smile was lopsided. Not that she minded. It made him look sort of cute. “That’s nice of him.”
“Nice of him?” Simone echoed. “He talks about you whenever I visit and that’s all I get to hear?” He shifted uncomfortably, and Simone finally decided to take pity on him. “I should go sit with Dad and wait for Dr. Mitchell.”
“It shouldn’t take long,” Peter said hurriedly.
“That hospital time, or real time?”
Peter looked embarrassed again, but he grinned nonetheless, as if she’d said something truly funny. He couldn’t possibly have a crush on her, could he? “Hospital time.”
Simone sighed. “I’ll see if Dad will lend me a pillow.”
“I’ll get you one before I go,” Peter promised. He paused and ducked his head. “Just in case, I mean.”
She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. She offered him a smile. “Thanks.” She glanced through the window to her dad’s room and steeled her shoulders. Forcing a smile, she sat in Peter’s vacated chair. “Hey, Dad.”
“You know that boy got off work over an hour ago?”
She blinked at him, not sure what they were discussing. She was still processing that her father was dying and she’d have to spend the better part of her afternoon waiting for a doctor to make it official. She’d expected her dad to be more upset. But then, that was her dad. Always so open and caring, no matter what. And that ever-loving, always patient presence would be gone in less than two months. “What?”
“Came by on his way home and stayed to talk.” Oh. Talking about Peter, who had talked with Dad about- His sharp eyes studied her. “He told you.”
Simone swallowed. “He told me.”
Charles nodded and settled back in his seat. “Figured he would. He’s a good man, Peter. He’s gonna change the world one day. Good thing he turned out like he did.”
She bent forward and kissed his forehead. He suddenly looked tired, weaker. “I swear, Dad. Sometimes you don’t make any sense at all.”
“Ah, you just wait.” His eyelids were already drooping. “Your old man still has a few tricks left.”
Simone was late. Isaac stared at the painting on the easel, the paint still drying. A girl in a cheerleading uniform, running from something out of sight. All Isaac could see was a shadow stretching across the floor, long and dark and menacing. It would fit in perfectly with Ninth Wonders.
Except Isaac couldn’t remember painting it. He couldn’t remember painting the one beside it, either, of a man leaning off a rooftop with a smile on his face.
He ran his hands through his hair. What had happened to make him paint it? Sure, he’d been zoned out before, but he’d never painted anything like that when he was chasing.
Trembling, he reached for a needle. Those paintings reminded him of one he’d done for his show, another he couldn’t recall doing. He’d first seen it sitting on an easel with paint drying, but he couldn’t remember sketching the bus or the girl in front of it. He could, however, remember how upset the woman had been when she’d seen the painting in the gallery, how she’d stormed out, wearing the same dress Isaac had painted her in.
The image of her being struck by the bus on her way across the street was burned in his mind.
He had been shocked at the time. Dumbfounded. It was as if he’d painted the future.
When he’d been able to think again, he’d even looked into it. There were enough details in his paintings to give him a starting point. A bus bombing, a plane crash… Isaac had painted them all weeks before they’d happened.
It was one reason why the painting on the floor of his loft scared him so much.
Elle liked Chandra. Of course, after this, she would have to kill him. This new ability she was investigating was too juicy to keep pretending she’d shown up out of concern for Frank and had stayed to help Chandra with his work. To him, she was nothing more than a bored rich girl with a heart of gold who could answer his questions about her ability. To her, he was nothing more than a list of names and addresses he was giving out all too slowly. He was finally trusting her enough to let her go on interviews alone, and this was her third time out. She’d left the other two alive. Who would ever want to freeze stuff? Lame. Though that kid... Elle wondered what ability little Molly Walker had. Oh, well. That was what she got for stopping by during school hours. It was probably some stupid ability, anyway.
She smiled as Judith Forsythe’s door open. “Ms. Forsythe? Hi. I don’t know if Dr. Suresh has already spoken to you, but I was really hoping I could come in and talk with you. I swear it won’t take long. I’ll try to be out of your hair as soon as possible.”
Judith looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t do surveys.”
“This isn’t a survey, ma’am. It’s about- Well, has anything… weird been happening to you lately?”
Judith didn’t answer for a few seconds. It wasn’t the outright refusal Elle had feared, and she took the opportunity to say, “It’s okay, Ms. Forsythe. Dr. Suresh and I can help.” She checked to make sure the hallway was empty, held up her hand, and let Judith see the sparks playing along her fingers. If this woman’s ability was worth the trouble, she’d take it. Her father had already made it abundantly clear she wasn’t good enough as she was.
The older woman frowned, thinking it over. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. Elle Bishop.”
Half an hour later, Elle smiled as she tested Judith’s ability, her smile widening as a copy of the fork she held in her right hand formed in her left. Oh, yes. She was beginning to enjoy herself.
Peter set his tray on the table and dropped into the seat across from Emma, waiting until she glanced at him to say, “Hey, Em.”
She gave him a small wave and set aside her book, plucking her earbuds from her ears.
Peter awkwardly signed hello and asked how her day had been, and she smiled crookedly before answering that it had been exciting as usual. He frowned as her gestures continued. “An explosion in the file room?”
She nodded and signed as she spoke. “It looks better than before.”
They grinned at one another, both of them looking up as Hesam slid his tray into place next to Peter, who eyed Hesam’s heavily laden tray. “What?” Hesam asked defensively. “I’m a growing boy!”
Peter grinned and shook his head.
“Besides, you’re the one that should be eating more. What if your brother gets elected?”
Peter shrugged. “He’s trailing in the polls.”
“’Cause he’s a shark. Everybody knows it.” Emma nodded her agreement.
Sighing, Peter poked his green beans with a fork. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.
Hesam chuckled at Peter’s reaction and leaned back in his chair, gripping the table as the front two legs came off the ground. One day, Peter thought ruefully, that habit was going to get Hesam hurt. Leaning forward again, Hesam pointed to a cookie on Emma’s tray. “Going to eat that?”
She made a face and grabbed it protectively.
He laughed again and leaned back in his chair. “And another thing, your brother can’t always push his wife around. I know he wants the sympathy vote - everybody knows - but it’s kind of obviously. Yeah, people are more likely to vote for the guy whose wife is in a wheelchair, but when it’s obvious that’s what the guy is doing?”
“Yeah, Heidi’s talking about doing more. She’s already talking about visiting schools and women’s groups.”
Hesam nodded and leaned back in his chair. “That’d be cool. Kind of tame, though. She should come to Mercy Heights, you know? Do photo ops. Or, you know what would get the youth vote?”
“Hm?”
Hesam rocked on the chair’s back legs as he envisioned it. “If she strapped rockets onto her wheelchair.”
Peter stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously! And she could have little American flags on it and stuff! You could set up a track to make sure it’s safe.”
Peter shook his head. “You’re the worst joker ever.”
Hesam laughed. “What? I’m serious, man. She seems bad-ass enough to do it! At least suggest it, all right?”
Peter rolled his eyes and was grateful when Emma broke the cookie and offered Hesam half.
“Finally!” Hesam leaned forward to grab the cookie, letting go of the table. He cursed as he realized the chair hadn’t righted itself yet. He tried to grab the table, but the chair had already leaned too far back again.
Peter quickly grabbed his arm, but Hesam’s weight jerked his own seat back, and before he quite knew what was happening, he was falling backward. He braced for impact and then, oddly, had the weirdest sensation that he was actually floating. He blinked in surprise, remembering the dreams he’d been having where he’d flown through New York’s sky scrapers. It was so much like those...
And then he hit the ground, at least a full second after his chair did. He stared at the others in disbelief. Had they seen that? He didn’t want to say anything to them; it sounded crazy, and Nathan had already brushed off Peter’s dreams as just dreams. He’d probably say this was just a delusion.
Hesam stood and held out a hand to help him up. “Just for that, I’ll vote for your brother. Thanks, man. You saved me.” He set Peter’s chair back in place, and Peter sat hastily, embarrassed by how many people had turned to watch.
Emma gave him half of her remaining cookie. “For the hero,” she said with a smile.
“Ha,” Hesam teased. “I got more than you.”
Peter gave him another rueful glance and then stared thoughtfully at his cookie. Hero. Sounded nice. He took a bite.
Had he really just flown, though? Well, not flown, exactly, but hovered?
There was only one way to find out. And this time, he’d make sure Nathan was there. His brother wouldn’t be able to deny it then.
Audrey Hanson drew to a stop when she entered Dr. Chandra Suresh’s apartment. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
The man in the suit turned toward her, and she could see the moment he decided she wasn’t a threat. “Question is, what’s an FBI agent doing here?”
“How’d you know I was FBI?” She’d detected the disdain in his voice, and she didn’t like it.
He pointed at the badge clipped to her hip.
Of course he’d seen that, she thought ruefully. The fat bastard had her so worked up with his invasion of her crime scene that she’d ignored the obvious. Speaking of which… “You need to leave, sir. This is a crime scene.”
“Doesn’t look like a crime scene to me.” He waved his hand at the apartment, where everything was in its place, clean and orderly, no sign of a struggle.
Audrey had never been so disappointed.
She took a step into the room, in part to see what he did about it, and looked around. She hated to admit it, but she was relieved when he didn’t challenge her. “I still need to look around.”
“Sure.” The man waved an arm to the apartment. “Just don’t disturb anything. Dr. Suresh is touchy about that.”
Audrey gave a brief nod and took a walk around, peeking into each room and not acknowledging the man again until she was done, despite how he followed her with his eyes the entire time. Just to spite him, she took as long as she could before saying, “Looks like a false alarm. Sorry to bother you, sir.” False alarm, her ass. All her leads in the Sylar case had led to this man. This apartment. Suresh was the key, she knew it.
The man’s good-natured grin froze in place, and he spoke a second later than most people would have. “Told you so.”
Audrey watched him closely, her eyes narrowed. “How well did you know Dr. Suresh?”
“Pretty good. We work at Primatech Paper together. See?” He handed her a business card for the paper company that she scrutinized before tucking it in her pocket.
“So what are you doing here? Coworkers I know don’t tend to hang out outside of office hours.”
His expression had changed again. Just for a second. He was definitely hiding something. “His family’s in India. I come by every so often to keep him from getting too depressed, make sure he’s eating okay, all that.”
That sounded like a load of crap.
“God’s honest truth,” he said, lifting his hands in the air. “Why would I lie about someone working at a paper company?”
She didn’t answer, instead handing over a business card. “Have him give me a call when he comes in.” She frowned at him as he took it, still wondering what he was hiding. One thing was for sure, she was going to go downstairs and talk to the woman who had called in the supposed fight she’d heard. “I’ll see myself out.”
And if the guy - Matt Parkman, according to his card - got in her way? She’d see him straight to hell.
Matt tapped his gloved fingers on the counter as he waited for Samson to pick up the phone. He had often thought messages like this could be delivered much more smoothly in person, or at least with Matt in telepathic range to tell Samson what was going on, but Samson was always too busy to meet, and Maury had told Matt that he was more useful as an agent, scurrying around the country and doing the Company’s dirty work. Sometimes, he wondered if he was right to do what the Company told him to do, but then someone like Sylar came along and convinced him that specials needed monitoring just like the Company said.
Now that Agent Hanson was gone, he was the only one who could see Chandra’s body sitting in the leather reclining chair. Chandra’s head had fallen forward, and Matt could clearly see the bump beneath the hair matted with blood. The scientist’s papers were scattered around the room, and it was only luck that had kept Hanson from tripping over them.
At long last, the soothing Phil Collins music cut out, and Matt wasted no time in saying, “Agent Audrey Hanson knows about Sylar.”
Instead of the seconds of shocked silence Matt had expected, Samson’s response was sharp and quick. “How?”
“I don’t know. I just heard her think the name.”
“And does she know about specials?”
Matt looked around the apartment as he replayed the scene in his mind. “I didn’t pick up on anything like that. She seems to think it’s a regular serial killer.”
“Regular, huh?”
“Yeah. I’d have to guess the M.O. confuses her.”
“Huh. And Chandra?”
“Dead. I’d have to say Sylar did it.”
“Sylar? What points to that?”
Matt stooped to look more closely at the wound, careful to keep his shoes out of the blood splatter. “His head was sliced. He was beaten to a pulp after, possibly to misdirect. Maybe Sylar thought Chandra had some sort of ability. His stuff has been tossed. No valuables taken, but it’s going to take a while to determine what was stolen. Chandra wasn’t a rich man. And the only thing he had worth killing for was his research. Too much of a coincidence, sir, and I don’t think we should treat it like one.”
Samson was silent as he thought. “Very well. Find Agent Hanson and convince her to let you work with her. Find out what she knows. Keep tabs on her. I’ll work on replacing Chandra.”
Link to fic master post: here
Link to art master post: here
Chapter One || Chapter Three
Author: rebelle_elle
Artist: therisingmoon
Word Count: 3,417
Rating: PG
Type: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Simone Deveaux, Peter Petrelli, Charles Deveaux, Isaac Mendez, Elle Bishop, Emma Coolidge, Hesam, Audrey Hanson, Matt Parkman, Samson Gray, (Chandra Suresh), (Molly Walker), (Judith Forsythe)
Warnings (sexual context, non-con, violence, strong language, characters death, etc) None
Summary:
Simone Deveaux is given bad new about her father by Peter Petrelli, who begins to wonder if he can fly. Meanwhile, painter Isaac Mendez is worried about the paintings he can't remember doing and more worried by what they might mean. Elle Bishop claims another victim, and two agents square off over a body one of them doesn't even realize is there.
Simone gave the dweeby guy a sympathetic smile as she passed. She’d been able to hear enough from her table that she felt bad for him, even if she couldn’t blame the blonde. They didn’t look like they were from the same planet, much less the same city. Though she felt as if she’d seen them somewhere before… Oh, well. It was New York. That was bound to happen.
She left him sitting alone and headed for the hospital, glad to see which nurse was on duty when she entered her dad’s hospital room. “Peter.” It had been awkward at first having Peter as Dad’s nurse. Their families were close enough that her dad had donated to Nathan’s campaign and even tried to mentor him to an extent. She had seen Peter at parties since they were children, often from across the room as he sat forlornly at the children’s table on child entertainment duty. They’d separated for the most part once they reached high school, but now that she’d gotten to know him better, she doubted there was a better nurse at Mercy Heights.
He turned, and for a moment she got the impression he was checking her out, but then he was looking at her dad’s clipboard and the moment was past. “Simone. Hey.”
“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns.” She looked behind Peter at the figure in the bed, looking so much frailer than he had as little as a month ago. His hair was going gray, and he’d lost weight. His skin had taken on a chalky undertone.
“Dad, you’ve only got one daughter.”
“That you know about,” he teased.
She exhaled harder than necessary, disgruntled. How dare he make light of the situation.
“Always so serious,” he muttered.
Simone pursed her lips and turned back to Peter. “Could I talk to you in the hall?” Peter nodded, and she led the way, her arms crossed and her boots clopping against the linoleum. “So what’s wrong with him? What can you do?”
Peter looked at her and hesitated, and in that moment, she knew. She took a step back. “No.”
“I’ve called hospice,” Peter admitted, seeming almost ashamed of himself. “Simone, look. This is something you should be talking about with his doctor, and I’m just a nurse.”
Simone shook her head. She’d barely seen Dr. Mitchell. Peter was the one who had been with her dad since Charles had been rushed to the hospital after Simone had found him on his floor, gasping for breath. “Tell me.”
Peter hesitated again, running a hand through his hair. “The fact is, Charles is just… old. There’s no cancer to work on, no pacemaker to install… His body has just decided it’s time to go.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth and held it there tightly. Maybe if she didn’t breathe, she wouldn’t be able to cry.
“I think he’s decided it’s time to go, too,” Peter said gently. “He’s not surprised by it. He’s been telling me that he’s lived a full life.”
Simone sniffled and tried to pull herself together, ignoring the stinging in her eyes. “How much time does he have?”
Peter shrugged. “I’d guess a month or two. Hospice specializes in this, though. They’ll narrow it down for you.”
She nodded even though she knew she wouldn’t remember enough of this later.
“I wrote it down,” Peter told her quietly. He handed her a notepad where he’d written several pages of notes in somewhat legible chicken scratch. “I was talking about it with Charles, and those are some things we figured you might need to know.”
Simone read over the notes, keeping her eyes down and trying to ignore the lump in her throat. She was strong. She could do this. She didn’t have a choice. Her eyes threatened to spill over, and she looked up before they had the chance. Ever since her mother had died, she’d tried to be strong for her dad, and now he was going to need her to be stronger than ever. There would be time to cry later. “And there’s nothing-”
Peter shook his head. “Dr. Mitchell will be by soon to tell you the same thing. But I knew you wouldn’t want to wait.” He bit his lip for a moment. “He’s a great guy, Simone.”
She tried not to scoff. “I think he feels the same way about you.”
He grinned, and she noticed again that his smile was lopsided. Not that she minded. It made him look sort of cute. “That’s nice of him.”
“Nice of him?” Simone echoed. “He talks about you whenever I visit and that’s all I get to hear?” He shifted uncomfortably, and Simone finally decided to take pity on him. “I should go sit with Dad and wait for Dr. Mitchell.”
“It shouldn’t take long,” Peter said hurriedly.
“That hospital time, or real time?”
Peter looked embarrassed again, but he grinned nonetheless, as if she’d said something truly funny. He couldn’t possibly have a crush on her, could he? “Hospital time.”
Simone sighed. “I’ll see if Dad will lend me a pillow.”
“I’ll get you one before I go,” Peter promised. He paused and ducked his head. “Just in case, I mean.”
She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. She offered him a smile. “Thanks.” She glanced through the window to her dad’s room and steeled her shoulders. Forcing a smile, she sat in Peter’s vacated chair. “Hey, Dad.”
“You know that boy got off work over an hour ago?”
She blinked at him, not sure what they were discussing. She was still processing that her father was dying and she’d have to spend the better part of her afternoon waiting for a doctor to make it official. She’d expected her dad to be more upset. But then, that was her dad. Always so open and caring, no matter what. And that ever-loving, always patient presence would be gone in less than two months. “What?”
“Came by on his way home and stayed to talk.” Oh. Talking about Peter, who had talked with Dad about- His sharp eyes studied her. “He told you.”
Simone swallowed. “He told me.”
Charles nodded and settled back in his seat. “Figured he would. He’s a good man, Peter. He’s gonna change the world one day. Good thing he turned out like he did.”
She bent forward and kissed his forehead. He suddenly looked tired, weaker. “I swear, Dad. Sometimes you don’t make any sense at all.”
“Ah, you just wait.” His eyelids were already drooping. “Your old man still has a few tricks left.”
Simone was late. Isaac stared at the painting on the easel, the paint still drying. A girl in a cheerleading uniform, running from something out of sight. All Isaac could see was a shadow stretching across the floor, long and dark and menacing. It would fit in perfectly with Ninth Wonders.
Except Isaac couldn’t remember painting it. He couldn’t remember painting the one beside it, either, of a man leaning off a rooftop with a smile on his face.
He ran his hands through his hair. What had happened to make him paint it? Sure, he’d been zoned out before, but he’d never painted anything like that when he was chasing.
Trembling, he reached for a needle. Those paintings reminded him of one he’d done for his show, another he couldn’t recall doing. He’d first seen it sitting on an easel with paint drying, but he couldn’t remember sketching the bus or the girl in front of it. He could, however, remember how upset the woman had been when she’d seen the painting in the gallery, how she’d stormed out, wearing the same dress Isaac had painted her in.
The image of her being struck by the bus on her way across the street was burned in his mind.
He had been shocked at the time. Dumbfounded. It was as if he’d painted the future.
When he’d been able to think again, he’d even looked into it. There were enough details in his paintings to give him a starting point. A bus bombing, a plane crash… Isaac had painted them all weeks before they’d happened.
It was one reason why the painting on the floor of his loft scared him so much.
Elle liked Chandra. Of course, after this, she would have to kill him. This new ability she was investigating was too juicy to keep pretending she’d shown up out of concern for Frank and had stayed to help Chandra with his work. To him, she was nothing more than a bored rich girl with a heart of gold who could answer his questions about her ability. To her, he was nothing more than a list of names and addresses he was giving out all too slowly. He was finally trusting her enough to let her go on interviews alone, and this was her third time out. She’d left the other two alive. Who would ever want to freeze stuff? Lame. Though that kid... Elle wondered what ability little Molly Walker had. Oh, well. That was what she got for stopping by during school hours. It was probably some stupid ability, anyway.
She smiled as Judith Forsythe’s door open. “Ms. Forsythe? Hi. I don’t know if Dr. Suresh has already spoken to you, but I was really hoping I could come in and talk with you. I swear it won’t take long. I’ll try to be out of your hair as soon as possible.”
Judith looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t do surveys.”
“This isn’t a survey, ma’am. It’s about- Well, has anything… weird been happening to you lately?”
Judith didn’t answer for a few seconds. It wasn’t the outright refusal Elle had feared, and she took the opportunity to say, “It’s okay, Ms. Forsythe. Dr. Suresh and I can help.” She checked to make sure the hallway was empty, held up her hand, and let Judith see the sparks playing along her fingers. If this woman’s ability was worth the trouble, she’d take it. Her father had already made it abundantly clear she wasn’t good enough as she was.
The older woman frowned, thinking it over. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. Elle Bishop.”
Half an hour later, Elle smiled as she tested Judith’s ability, her smile widening as a copy of the fork she held in her right hand formed in her left. Oh, yes. She was beginning to enjoy herself.
Peter set his tray on the table and dropped into the seat across from Emma, waiting until she glanced at him to say, “Hey, Em.”
She gave him a small wave and set aside her book, plucking her earbuds from her ears.
Peter awkwardly signed hello and asked how her day had been, and she smiled crookedly before answering that it had been exciting as usual. He frowned as her gestures continued. “An explosion in the file room?”
She nodded and signed as she spoke. “It looks better than before.”
They grinned at one another, both of them looking up as Hesam slid his tray into place next to Peter, who eyed Hesam’s heavily laden tray. “What?” Hesam asked defensively. “I’m a growing boy!”
Peter grinned and shook his head.
“Besides, you’re the one that should be eating more. What if your brother gets elected?”
Peter shrugged. “He’s trailing in the polls.”
“’Cause he’s a shark. Everybody knows it.” Emma nodded her agreement.
Sighing, Peter poked his green beans with a fork. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.
Hesam chuckled at Peter’s reaction and leaned back in his chair, gripping the table as the front two legs came off the ground. One day, Peter thought ruefully, that habit was going to get Hesam hurt. Leaning forward again, Hesam pointed to a cookie on Emma’s tray. “Going to eat that?”
She made a face and grabbed it protectively.
He laughed again and leaned back in his chair. “And another thing, your brother can’t always push his wife around. I know he wants the sympathy vote - everybody knows - but it’s kind of obviously. Yeah, people are more likely to vote for the guy whose wife is in a wheelchair, but when it’s obvious that’s what the guy is doing?”
“Yeah, Heidi’s talking about doing more. She’s already talking about visiting schools and women’s groups.”
Hesam nodded and leaned back in his chair. “That’d be cool. Kind of tame, though. She should come to Mercy Heights, you know? Do photo ops. Or, you know what would get the youth vote?”
“Hm?”
Hesam rocked on the chair’s back legs as he envisioned it. “If she strapped rockets onto her wheelchair.”
Peter stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously! And she could have little American flags on it and stuff! You could set up a track to make sure it’s safe.”
Peter shook his head. “You’re the worst joker ever.”
Hesam laughed. “What? I’m serious, man. She seems bad-ass enough to do it! At least suggest it, all right?”
Peter rolled his eyes and was grateful when Emma broke the cookie and offered Hesam half.
“Finally!” Hesam leaned forward to grab the cookie, letting go of the table. He cursed as he realized the chair hadn’t righted itself yet. He tried to grab the table, but the chair had already leaned too far back again.
Peter quickly grabbed his arm, but Hesam’s weight jerked his own seat back, and before he quite knew what was happening, he was falling backward. He braced for impact and then, oddly, had the weirdest sensation that he was actually floating. He blinked in surprise, remembering the dreams he’d been having where he’d flown through New York’s sky scrapers. It was so much like those...
And then he hit the ground, at least a full second after his chair did. He stared at the others in disbelief. Had they seen that? He didn’t want to say anything to them; it sounded crazy, and Nathan had already brushed off Peter’s dreams as just dreams. He’d probably say this was just a delusion.
Hesam stood and held out a hand to help him up. “Just for that, I’ll vote for your brother. Thanks, man. You saved me.” He set Peter’s chair back in place, and Peter sat hastily, embarrassed by how many people had turned to watch.
Emma gave him half of her remaining cookie. “For the hero,” she said with a smile.
“Ha,” Hesam teased. “I got more than you.”
Peter gave him another rueful glance and then stared thoughtfully at his cookie. Hero. Sounded nice. He took a bite.
Had he really just flown, though? Well, not flown, exactly, but hovered?
There was only one way to find out. And this time, he’d make sure Nathan was there. His brother wouldn’t be able to deny it then.
Audrey Hanson drew to a stop when she entered Dr. Chandra Suresh’s apartment. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
The man in the suit turned toward her, and she could see the moment he decided she wasn’t a threat. “Question is, what’s an FBI agent doing here?”
“How’d you know I was FBI?” She’d detected the disdain in his voice, and she didn’t like it.
He pointed at the badge clipped to her hip.
Of course he’d seen that, she thought ruefully. The fat bastard had her so worked up with his invasion of her crime scene that she’d ignored the obvious. Speaking of which… “You need to leave, sir. This is a crime scene.”
“Doesn’t look like a crime scene to me.” He waved his hand at the apartment, where everything was in its place, clean and orderly, no sign of a struggle.
Audrey had never been so disappointed.
She took a step into the room, in part to see what he did about it, and looked around. She hated to admit it, but she was relieved when he didn’t challenge her. “I still need to look around.”
“Sure.” The man waved an arm to the apartment. “Just don’t disturb anything. Dr. Suresh is touchy about that.”
Audrey gave a brief nod and took a walk around, peeking into each room and not acknowledging the man again until she was done, despite how he followed her with his eyes the entire time. Just to spite him, she took as long as she could before saying, “Looks like a false alarm. Sorry to bother you, sir.” False alarm, her ass. All her leads in the Sylar case had led to this man. This apartment. Suresh was the key, she knew it.
The man’s good-natured grin froze in place, and he spoke a second later than most people would have. “Told you so.”
Audrey watched him closely, her eyes narrowed. “How well did you know Dr. Suresh?”
“Pretty good. We work at Primatech Paper together. See?” He handed her a business card for the paper company that she scrutinized before tucking it in her pocket.
“So what are you doing here? Coworkers I know don’t tend to hang out outside of office hours.”
His expression had changed again. Just for a second. He was definitely hiding something. “His family’s in India. I come by every so often to keep him from getting too depressed, make sure he’s eating okay, all that.”
That sounded like a load of crap.
“God’s honest truth,” he said, lifting his hands in the air. “Why would I lie about someone working at a paper company?”
She didn’t answer, instead handing over a business card. “Have him give me a call when he comes in.” She frowned at him as he took it, still wondering what he was hiding. One thing was for sure, she was going to go downstairs and talk to the woman who had called in the supposed fight she’d heard. “I’ll see myself out.”
And if the guy - Matt Parkman, according to his card - got in her way? She’d see him straight to hell.
Matt tapped his gloved fingers on the counter as he waited for Samson to pick up the phone. He had often thought messages like this could be delivered much more smoothly in person, or at least with Matt in telepathic range to tell Samson what was going on, but Samson was always too busy to meet, and Maury had told Matt that he was more useful as an agent, scurrying around the country and doing the Company’s dirty work. Sometimes, he wondered if he was right to do what the Company told him to do, but then someone like Sylar came along and convinced him that specials needed monitoring just like the Company said.
Now that Agent Hanson was gone, he was the only one who could see Chandra’s body sitting in the leather reclining chair. Chandra’s head had fallen forward, and Matt could clearly see the bump beneath the hair matted with blood. The scientist’s papers were scattered around the room, and it was only luck that had kept Hanson from tripping over them.
At long last, the soothing Phil Collins music cut out, and Matt wasted no time in saying, “Agent Audrey Hanson knows about Sylar.”
Instead of the seconds of shocked silence Matt had expected, Samson’s response was sharp and quick. “How?”
“I don’t know. I just heard her think the name.”
“And does she know about specials?”
Matt looked around the apartment as he replayed the scene in his mind. “I didn’t pick up on anything like that. She seems to think it’s a regular serial killer.”
“Regular, huh?”
“Yeah. I’d have to guess the M.O. confuses her.”
“Huh. And Chandra?”
“Dead. I’d have to say Sylar did it.”
“Sylar? What points to that?”
Matt stooped to look more closely at the wound, careful to keep his shoes out of the blood splatter. “His head was sliced. He was beaten to a pulp after, possibly to misdirect. Maybe Sylar thought Chandra had some sort of ability. His stuff has been tossed. No valuables taken, but it’s going to take a while to determine what was stolen. Chandra wasn’t a rich man. And the only thing he had worth killing for was his research. Too much of a coincidence, sir, and I don’t think we should treat it like one.”
Samson was silent as he thought. “Very well. Find Agent Hanson and convince her to let you work with her. Find out what she knows. Keep tabs on her. I’ll work on replacing Chandra.”
Link to fic master post: here
Link to art master post: here
Chapter One || Chapter Three