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Name: Happy Ever After
Pairing: Matt/Sylar
Rating: 18
Warnings: Non-con sex, implied violence.
Note: Final part of the Nursery Rhymes series. Follows on from Hush A Bye
Italians are so unnecessarily... emotional, don’t you find? Two days enjoying the many pleasures of being myself again and Mama Petrelli has left a dozen increasingly demanding messages on my cell alongside a litany of mewling nonsense from Peter.
Tut, tut, not a single call or text from Parkman? That’s not very responsible now is it? Hurtful too, after all the time we’ve spent together. A boy could feel most uncared for.
He’s gone back to Washington, which surprised me. Fortunate to my plans as it was. I was slightly concerned he’d take the opportunity to spend more time with the little one, which would have foreshortened my surprise considerably. His sense of duty will be rewarded; he’ll soon have as much time with young Matty as he could wish. After all, a boy’s relationship with his father is the very bedrock of his future development.
Nathan’s shape is almost cramped, what it is with these tiny Italians? Although the tailoring isn’t my taste, it’s certainly stylish and attracts plenty of attention both male and female. Even the Company Agents staking out Nathan’s townhouse seem impressed. They sputter, stumble, and stammer as they try to explain away their presence but fortunately Nathan was no fool and I’m free to treat their idiocy with the contempt it deserves. I watch one of them scurry away while the other one paces around outside. Silly fools with their petty lives, I’d kill the one outside but that would spoil my surprise.
Mama Petrelli calls while I’m unpacking my suitcases and it’s surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythms correct to a dutiful son. Oh don’t worry yourself; I have plans for Mama Petrelli. I suppose I could be flattered that she rates me so highly that she’s twice tried to co-opt me into the role of son. I could be, and yet I’m strangely not. Perhaps it’s the being lied to and manipulated, hmm.
‘Nathan, darling, we were so worried when Parkman said you’d disappeared. You’re going to have to recompense him for the hotel bill, he’ll be sure and hound you for it otherwise. His father was the same, it’s the Jewish blood you know.’
Darling, funny, Nathan didn’t have any memories of her calling him that when he was alive. Strange how she’s so much more affectionate now he’s dead.
‘I got bored hanging around the hotel while Parkman was off playing patty-cake, patty-cake,’ I say, kicking off Nathan’s loafers and TKing myself a glass of milk. ‘I certainly didn’t mean to spark a nationwide panic.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nathan,’ she says, sounding irritated. ‘You’re a United States Senator. If you vanish then naturally people are concerned.’
Blah, blah, blah, worried mother and creepy matriarch cakes. Except of course that she isn’t worried about her son but about the serial killer who she’s been masquerading as her son. I wonder what darling Peter will have to say about that? You poked the tiger in the cage, Angela, and now the door is wide open.
Oh dear, oh dear. If this is the best accommodation that Parkman can afford then I really will have to see about a hike in his salary. If the inside is remotely like the grubby, dismal outside then it’s a wonder he doesn’t slit his wrists. With his ability, he could easily secure himself a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria. That Parkman, of all people, tiptoes through life apologising for existing is ludicrous. He has it in him to truly special and he plays at normality. It’s tempting to go up there right now, but that would spoil my big surprise and what would be the fun in that? No, Parkman’s private hell will have to wait for another occasion.
How many flirtatious smiles one gets when one is Senator Petrelli! How many pretty girls and blousy secretaries flutter their eyelashes and offer up their cleavage. It’s almost enough to take offset Parkman’s angry, miserable glowering as he stamps into the office. He’s too wrapped up in his own unhappiness to spare me more than a cursory glance. Here I am, for all he knows, utterly dependent on him for my very sanity and barely spares me a glance. Now does that seem fair to you? I at least should warrant as much of his attention as he has of mine.
There’s something so lacking about this modern reliance on computers, don’t you think? There’s something very cold and impersonal about rows and rows of secretaries taping away at keyboards. There’s none of the romance of the rustle of ledgers, and none of the feel and scent of paper. There are no paper cuts or indigo ink staining fingers, nothing real or tangible. I wonder if Parkman feels the same way. Certainly, he has no affinity for computers from what I can see of him fighting a losing battle with a security schedule. Good news, Parkman, you won’t have to worry about that for much longer.
There’s a flutter of excitement as the FedEx deliveryman arrives. Ah, ladies, you’ll find something even more exciting than the deliveryman’s package. Parkman doesn’t so much as glance as a curious secretary trips across the room towards him, clutching the large parcel to her chest.
It’s impossible not to stand in the doorway and watch as the parcel is handed over to Parkman. A surprise is much more exciting when the subject is so completely caught unawares. It’s so much more satisfying!
Parkman runs a metal detector over the box, so suspicious! Is a little trust too much to ask for? Of course, there’s little or nothing metal in my little gift so he opens it warily.
People never react instantly. It always takes them a few minutes to process what they’re looking at.
Parkman’s heart is beating wildly and the box slips from his hands.
This is the part where people start screaming. I love this part, don’t you?
Janice’s head rolls out of the box, bounces with a crunching sound, and then comes to a rest face down. Tut, tut, Parkman, such a lack of respect for the mother of your child.
He’s staring at me, not her. His skin is grey and drawn, and his brown eyes are dull. Around him security staff and secretaries are swarming, yelling, screaming, and carrying on to a ridiculous degree. Parkman draws his gun, moving as if he’s in a dream, steps forward and aims at me. Does he really think that will work?
The security staff panic, covering him with their weapons, Parkman sighs and tries to pull the trigger. Does he really think after everything we’ve been through that I’d let him commit suicide by security?
‘Whoa, whoa, stand down boys,’ I say, walking forward and holding up my hands. ‘Let’s not get carried away here.’
‘Senator Petrelli he pulled his weapon on you!’
‘Jason, see if the cops are on the way,’ I say, stooping down to pick up the photograph and the card, which have fallen to the floor. ‘Matt, let’s not do anything too hasty.’ I hold up the photograph. ‘Your little boy is going to need you more than ever now.’
His eyes flicker to the photograph of myself, in my own shape, cradling Matty in one arm and holding a newspaper, and then to the card.
‘What’s that?’ he asks, staring at me with a flat, dead kind of hatred.
‘Hmm? Oh, seems to be some kind of a postcard.’ I hold it out and let him drop his gun and snatch the card from my fingers.
‘Is it a ransom demand?’ Amelia the office manager asks. She’s one of those women who come into life middle-aged and sensible. ‘Matt, sit down. Everyone back up and give him some room.’
‘What the fuck does this mean?’ he asks, looking up at me.
‘Matt, you’re not thinking clearly. Senator Petrelli isn’t responsible for...’
‘It means what it says,’ I say, using Nathan’s wide grin for the last time. ‘I accept your terms, Matty’s life for Nathan’s. He’s in the daycare downstairs...’
Parkman shoves everyone away and bolts for the door. I can see we’re going to have to work on our trust issues.
I follow him out with the confused and panicking staff rushing along for the fun. Amazing how nobody wants to miss any of the drama isn’t it?
He’s in a corner of the room examining Matty as if expecting to find an injury, honestly, is that what he thinks of me? Just because I’ve murdered men, women, and children with gay abandon doesn’t mean that I beat up babies.
‘Don’t worry about the cost, call it a perk,’ I say, leaning against the wall. I stretch back to my own shape, although the suddenly too-short pants rather ruin the effect, and there are gasps and screams from the assembled staff. ‘I’d have brought him into the office with me but that would’ve ruined my surprise.’
‘Who are you?’ Amelia demands, and when I turn to her, I see she’s liberated a gun from someone and is training it on me steadily while the security guards look like they’re about to burst into tears.
Parkman pulls her back, takes the gun, and hands her Matty in one smooth movement. ‘Take him downstairs. Everyone go downstairs.’
It’s beautiful watching someone use their power skilfully, it’s like oiled clockwork ticking along perfectly in time. Obviously, he hasn’t used it on me because I’m not trooping dutifully down the stairs like a good little automaton.
‘Janice never did a damn thing to you,’ he says, looking at me. ‘She didn’t have an ability. What did you have to gain?’
‘I’m a serial killer, I enjoy it,’ I say.
Parkman rubs his face. ‘But why Janice? Why not me, why not Matty, he has an ability, you know that.’
‘I’m hurt! I consider myself as Matty’s... godfather, as it were.’
‘You murdered his mother!’ Parkman snarls, surging forward. A little TK keeps him from doing something silly, like trying to throttle me with him bare hands. ‘For what?’
‘For you, Parkman.’ I pat his arm. ‘You didn’t think you could get away with what you did to me, did you?’
‘Kill me,’ he says, struggling to move. To do what I’m not sure.
I slide my hand down his chest and his eyes widen. ‘Where would be the fun with that? No, don’t try that, I can feel you now. I think we both know that trying to turn me into Nathan or anyone else won’t last long enough to be worthwhile.’
‘What do you want?’
I press my mouth to his ear. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot over the weekend,’ I confide. ‘Nathan was a lie, a fallacy, but he wanted things Matt, and perhaps I want them too.’ I lick the side of his face, he judders suddenly, and his heart lurches a beat. ‘Run away if you want,’ I say as I take a step back. ‘I don’t mind having to work for it. But please don’t worry about Matty, I’ll be watching over you both.’
His mouth is moving but no words are coming out.
‘Don’t worry; you don’t have to say anything right now.’ I change into a less familiar form, Peter Petrelli. Another tiny Italian. ‘I’m off to see Mama Petrelli. I know she’s the one who put you up to it. Do you think you can warn her about me before I get there? Do you even want to, knowing she’s the one who’s really responsible for Janice’s death?’ I stand on my tiptoes and bite his throat, just hard enough to leave a mark. I’ll see about something more permanent later. I know it’s old fashioned of me but I’ve never been one to flit from one man to another. I’ve always found something very attractive about wedding rings and other outward physical signs of ownership.
The telephone makes Parkman’s voice a little tinny on the telephone. He’s telling Mama Petrelli to stop wasting time and get out of the house now. Mama Petrelli is refusing to be rushed, which she’ll regret, but not for long. Typically heroic of him to try to save her even she’s the one who persuaded him to this lunacy.
And this is why five-inch stiletto heels may be the stylish choice, but they’re rarely the practical choice. Mama Petrelli makes it a few steps and then goes down like a well-dressed baby elephant. Parkman is still shouting on the phone, so I TK her where she is, and take a few moments to let Matt know I’m here.
Relationships are all about openness, don’t you find?
Mama Petrelli is more of a screamer than I’d have guessed. You never can tell which of them will scream and which of them will whimper. Both of them are satisfying in their own, different, ways. Some people freeze, some shudder, and some flop around as Mama Petrelli is doing. Unfortunately, though I can hear the distant sound of sirens a couple of miles away, so I will have to give her a little less attention than would be ideal. The message should be clear though, to anyone bothering to look.
I spend a few hours enjoying the delights of being myself in the big city, as well as finding somewhere to live. Nathan’s townhouse wouldn’t be my taste; even it won’t be crawling with agents of all creeds. Besides, I need somewhere nice and quiet, for when I choose to have my new playmate stay over.
I’m surprised again when I go by Parkman’s apartment building and hear the distinctive fetch and carry of his heart beating. I expected him to have gone and that I’d have to torture his neighbours and building super into telling me where they’d gone. Matty’s little pitter-patter is there too, completely different from the deeper sound of the baby on the fifth floor and the metallic bounce of the toddler on the eighteenth. Did Parkman think I was bluffing? Would he really risk setting some sort of trap for me? He’s singing tunelessly, some Yiddisher nursery rhyme that he’s struggling to remember, hardly the behaviour of a man sitting by the door with an elephant tranquiliser.
I’m a little disappointed; I was expecting a chase across the state, hunting him down in the hotels and motels of cities and towns. Sitting tight in his, no doubt tiny and miserable apartment, and playing loving father takes away so much of the fun. Where’s the joy of being the hunter when the prey doesn’t run?
Perhaps for once someone actually listened to what I said. Or was he listening to what I was thinking? It’s definitely Parkman in there and the baby with him. Does Parkman have it him to have laid traps in the apartment?
I take it back; it’s more fun not knowing which way he’ll jump. It’s far more exciting than anticipating his every move.
The little one’s heartbeat is slowed now, sleeping probably, and Parkman’s is starting to slow. It’s still early, but Nathan had memories of sleeping as and when he and Heidi could get their boys to sleep. Matty was certainly well behaved for me but then I’ve always gotten on well with children. Still, single parenthood is a difficult path and it behoves us all to assist those attempting it wherever we can. I’ll let Parkman have a few hours sleep before I wake sleeping beauty from his slumber.
The door is triple barred and he has a couple of chairs wedged up against it, rather sweet really. The little one is sleeping peacefully in a brand new crib in Parkman’s bedroom. The apartment is as small as I guessed, drab, and dismal but clean.
The baby complains when I pick up the crib but really, I do have a very finely attuned sense of what’s proper. I put his crib in the living room and shut the doors; it wouldn’t do for his grizzling to wake up Parkman before I’m ready.
He’s sleeping badly, calling out the ex-wife’s name as he thrashes. This is the man that that “Nathan” plotted fruitlessly to manipulate, the face that he watched desperately for any sign of affection or regard, the man he resentfully worshipped. This man had me whipped, bound, caged inside my own mind. That’s not something a man forgives easily.
I TK the bedclothes back and he shivers in the chill, despite the t-shirt and boxers he’s wearing. This is the man who thought to control me, to own me; this man is so utterly vulnerable. I take off my shoes before straddling his body, there’s absolutely no excuse for shoes on a bed.
‘Parkman, wake up,’ I whisper into his ear. ‘Open your eyes.’
He whines softly as my voice registers.
‘Parkman, wake up.’
His eyes open, and then widen as he struggles to wake up. His gaze darts to the corner of the room where the crib was.
‘Relax, he’s in the living room,’ I promise. ‘I told you I’m going to be looking out for him.’ I sit up and TK on the light. ‘Did you ever meet Eric Doyle? He called himself The Puppeteer, as if he was some petty comic book villain. Did you know him?’
‘No.’ The word comes from his lips like a bullet from a gun.
‘No? Well you’re two sides of the same coin. You control the mind and he controls...’ I make a gesture and he sits up... ‘the body.’ A few small movements and he strips off his t-shirt, jerkily pulling it over his head and throwing it aside. ‘Hmm? Something to say? Well, I suppose a little conversation is normal. You can talk dirty if you like.’ I sit on the bed and have him remove his boxers. ‘I met him, when I was experimenting with letting people live when I’d taken their powers. Fun isn’t it?’
He works his mouth as if he’s testing his ability to speak. ‘Are you going to torture me? Cut off the top of my head. Impale me on the wall with kitchen implements.’
‘Goodness Matt I had no idea your version of “dirty talk” would be so... hard-core. I’m honestly a little shocked.’ I have him lie down and then I straddle his waist. ‘But I’m... excited, too.’ I lean down and flick my tongue over his lips. ‘Behind the boy scout exterior there are all kinds of twisted sick things going on aren’t there?’
‘Why can’t I use my ability?’ he asks in a dull, flat voice. He’s past the soaring peaks of hysteria and into the placid waters of surrendered terror. Past fight, past flight, and instead in the blank space where the mind simply gives up on dealing with the reality in front of it.
‘I’ve suppressed it. I found the little part inside your brain and put it to sleep for a little while. You’ve had it all your own way and now it’s my turn.’ I TK open the bedside table and search through the scraps of paper, old keys, and other rubbish. ‘Points for avoiding the obvious clichés of lube and condoms in the bedside table. Where do you keep them?’
‘You’re going to rape me?’ he asks.
‘Well, duh, Parkman. I have you stripped naked and helpless in your bed,’ I point out. I TK open all the draws in the room and get up to rifle through them.
‘You never... the files never said you raped anyone else,’ he says, and now his voice is starting to shake a little.
‘To be fair though, nobody else ever raped me first,’ I say, finding the lube and condoms in a shoebox. ‘Here we are.’
I have him roll onto his front, and his head drops down onto the pillow. ‘I didn’t do that,’ he says quietly. ‘Whatever I did to you, I didn’t do that.’
‘Parkman, Parkman, Parkman,’ I sigh, straddling his legs. ‘You twisted and abused my mind until I was willing to let you do anything to me. Is that your definition of consent?’
No answer.
I lean down and touch his face.
‘Tears, Parkman? Not for me I hope.’
This is less fun than I anticipated. Parkman fighting and protesting would be fun, but Parkman miserable and utterly resigned to being wretched is just... sad really.
I shift into a shape I’ve never used before but one I’ve studied and have him roll onto his back. He looks up at me blearily and I have him wipe his eyes dry.
‘Would you prefer this, Matthew?’ I ask, and practice a different bright, wide smile.
‘Mohinder doesn’t call me Matthew,’ he mutters.
‘I beg your pardon, Matt.’
He’s still crying as I kiss him, as I part his legs and prepare him.
‘Why’re you doing this?’ he asks, licking his lips. ‘Why looking like... like that?’
He catches his breath as I enter him, and his hand grabs at the sheet. I suppose I must be letting him do that. I don’t know why I’m doing that either.
‘We’re going to be together a long time,’ I promise, adjusting my angle to make him moan softly. ‘I’m going to take very thorough care of you.’
The End
Pairing: Matt/Sylar
Rating: 18
Warnings: Non-con sex, implied violence.
Note: Final part of the Nursery Rhymes series. Follows on from Hush A Bye
Italians are so unnecessarily... emotional, don’t you find? Two days enjoying the many pleasures of being myself again and Mama Petrelli has left a dozen increasingly demanding messages on my cell alongside a litany of mewling nonsense from Peter.
Tut, tut, not a single call or text from Parkman? That’s not very responsible now is it? Hurtful too, after all the time we’ve spent together. A boy could feel most uncared for.
He’s gone back to Washington, which surprised me. Fortunate to my plans as it was. I was slightly concerned he’d take the opportunity to spend more time with the little one, which would have foreshortened my surprise considerably. His sense of duty will be rewarded; he’ll soon have as much time with young Matty as he could wish. After all, a boy’s relationship with his father is the very bedrock of his future development.
Nathan’s shape is almost cramped, what it is with these tiny Italians? Although the tailoring isn’t my taste, it’s certainly stylish and attracts plenty of attention both male and female. Even the Company Agents staking out Nathan’s townhouse seem impressed. They sputter, stumble, and stammer as they try to explain away their presence but fortunately Nathan was no fool and I’m free to treat their idiocy with the contempt it deserves. I watch one of them scurry away while the other one paces around outside. Silly fools with their petty lives, I’d kill the one outside but that would spoil my surprise.
Mama Petrelli calls while I’m unpacking my suitcases and it’s surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythms correct to a dutiful son. Oh don’t worry yourself; I have plans for Mama Petrelli. I suppose I could be flattered that she rates me so highly that she’s twice tried to co-opt me into the role of son. I could be, and yet I’m strangely not. Perhaps it’s the being lied to and manipulated, hmm.
‘Nathan, darling, we were so worried when Parkman said you’d disappeared. You’re going to have to recompense him for the hotel bill, he’ll be sure and hound you for it otherwise. His father was the same, it’s the Jewish blood you know.’
Darling, funny, Nathan didn’t have any memories of her calling him that when he was alive. Strange how she’s so much more affectionate now he’s dead.
‘I got bored hanging around the hotel while Parkman was off playing patty-cake, patty-cake,’ I say, kicking off Nathan’s loafers and TKing myself a glass of milk. ‘I certainly didn’t mean to spark a nationwide panic.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nathan,’ she says, sounding irritated. ‘You’re a United States Senator. If you vanish then naturally people are concerned.’
Blah, blah, blah, worried mother and creepy matriarch cakes. Except of course that she isn’t worried about her son but about the serial killer who she’s been masquerading as her son. I wonder what darling Peter will have to say about that? You poked the tiger in the cage, Angela, and now the door is wide open.
Oh dear, oh dear. If this is the best accommodation that Parkman can afford then I really will have to see about a hike in his salary. If the inside is remotely like the grubby, dismal outside then it’s a wonder he doesn’t slit his wrists. With his ability, he could easily secure himself a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria. That Parkman, of all people, tiptoes through life apologising for existing is ludicrous. He has it in him to truly special and he plays at normality. It’s tempting to go up there right now, but that would spoil my big surprise and what would be the fun in that? No, Parkman’s private hell will have to wait for another occasion.
How many flirtatious smiles one gets when one is Senator Petrelli! How many pretty girls and blousy secretaries flutter their eyelashes and offer up their cleavage. It’s almost enough to take offset Parkman’s angry, miserable glowering as he stamps into the office. He’s too wrapped up in his own unhappiness to spare me more than a cursory glance. Here I am, for all he knows, utterly dependent on him for my very sanity and barely spares me a glance. Now does that seem fair to you? I at least should warrant as much of his attention as he has of mine.
There’s something so lacking about this modern reliance on computers, don’t you think? There’s something very cold and impersonal about rows and rows of secretaries taping away at keyboards. There’s none of the romance of the rustle of ledgers, and none of the feel and scent of paper. There are no paper cuts or indigo ink staining fingers, nothing real or tangible. I wonder if Parkman feels the same way. Certainly, he has no affinity for computers from what I can see of him fighting a losing battle with a security schedule. Good news, Parkman, you won’t have to worry about that for much longer.
There’s a flutter of excitement as the FedEx deliveryman arrives. Ah, ladies, you’ll find something even more exciting than the deliveryman’s package. Parkman doesn’t so much as glance as a curious secretary trips across the room towards him, clutching the large parcel to her chest.
It’s impossible not to stand in the doorway and watch as the parcel is handed over to Parkman. A surprise is much more exciting when the subject is so completely caught unawares. It’s so much more satisfying!
Parkman runs a metal detector over the box, so suspicious! Is a little trust too much to ask for? Of course, there’s little or nothing metal in my little gift so he opens it warily.
People never react instantly. It always takes them a few minutes to process what they’re looking at.
Parkman’s heart is beating wildly and the box slips from his hands.
This is the part where people start screaming. I love this part, don’t you?
Janice’s head rolls out of the box, bounces with a crunching sound, and then comes to a rest face down. Tut, tut, Parkman, such a lack of respect for the mother of your child.
He’s staring at me, not her. His skin is grey and drawn, and his brown eyes are dull. Around him security staff and secretaries are swarming, yelling, screaming, and carrying on to a ridiculous degree. Parkman draws his gun, moving as if he’s in a dream, steps forward and aims at me. Does he really think that will work?
The security staff panic, covering him with their weapons, Parkman sighs and tries to pull the trigger. Does he really think after everything we’ve been through that I’d let him commit suicide by security?
‘Whoa, whoa, stand down boys,’ I say, walking forward and holding up my hands. ‘Let’s not get carried away here.’
‘Senator Petrelli he pulled his weapon on you!’
‘Jason, see if the cops are on the way,’ I say, stooping down to pick up the photograph and the card, which have fallen to the floor. ‘Matt, let’s not do anything too hasty.’ I hold up the photograph. ‘Your little boy is going to need you more than ever now.’
His eyes flicker to the photograph of myself, in my own shape, cradling Matty in one arm and holding a newspaper, and then to the card.
‘What’s that?’ he asks, staring at me with a flat, dead kind of hatred.
‘Hmm? Oh, seems to be some kind of a postcard.’ I hold it out and let him drop his gun and snatch the card from my fingers.
‘Is it a ransom demand?’ Amelia the office manager asks. She’s one of those women who come into life middle-aged and sensible. ‘Matt, sit down. Everyone back up and give him some room.’
‘What the fuck does this mean?’ he asks, looking up at me.
‘Matt, you’re not thinking clearly. Senator Petrelli isn’t responsible for...’
‘It means what it says,’ I say, using Nathan’s wide grin for the last time. ‘I accept your terms, Matty’s life for Nathan’s. He’s in the daycare downstairs...’
Parkman shoves everyone away and bolts for the door. I can see we’re going to have to work on our trust issues.
I follow him out with the confused and panicking staff rushing along for the fun. Amazing how nobody wants to miss any of the drama isn’t it?
He’s in a corner of the room examining Matty as if expecting to find an injury, honestly, is that what he thinks of me? Just because I’ve murdered men, women, and children with gay abandon doesn’t mean that I beat up babies.
‘Don’t worry about the cost, call it a perk,’ I say, leaning against the wall. I stretch back to my own shape, although the suddenly too-short pants rather ruin the effect, and there are gasps and screams from the assembled staff. ‘I’d have brought him into the office with me but that would’ve ruined my surprise.’
‘Who are you?’ Amelia demands, and when I turn to her, I see she’s liberated a gun from someone and is training it on me steadily while the security guards look like they’re about to burst into tears.
Parkman pulls her back, takes the gun, and hands her Matty in one smooth movement. ‘Take him downstairs. Everyone go downstairs.’
It’s beautiful watching someone use their power skilfully, it’s like oiled clockwork ticking along perfectly in time. Obviously, he hasn’t used it on me because I’m not trooping dutifully down the stairs like a good little automaton.
‘Janice never did a damn thing to you,’ he says, looking at me. ‘She didn’t have an ability. What did you have to gain?’
‘I’m a serial killer, I enjoy it,’ I say.
Parkman rubs his face. ‘But why Janice? Why not me, why not Matty, he has an ability, you know that.’
‘I’m hurt! I consider myself as Matty’s... godfather, as it were.’
‘You murdered his mother!’ Parkman snarls, surging forward. A little TK keeps him from doing something silly, like trying to throttle me with him bare hands. ‘For what?’
‘For you, Parkman.’ I pat his arm. ‘You didn’t think you could get away with what you did to me, did you?’
‘Kill me,’ he says, struggling to move. To do what I’m not sure.
I slide my hand down his chest and his eyes widen. ‘Where would be the fun with that? No, don’t try that, I can feel you now. I think we both know that trying to turn me into Nathan or anyone else won’t last long enough to be worthwhile.’
‘What do you want?’
I press my mouth to his ear. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot over the weekend,’ I confide. ‘Nathan was a lie, a fallacy, but he wanted things Matt, and perhaps I want them too.’ I lick the side of his face, he judders suddenly, and his heart lurches a beat. ‘Run away if you want,’ I say as I take a step back. ‘I don’t mind having to work for it. But please don’t worry about Matty, I’ll be watching over you both.’
His mouth is moving but no words are coming out.
‘Don’t worry; you don’t have to say anything right now.’ I change into a less familiar form, Peter Petrelli. Another tiny Italian. ‘I’m off to see Mama Petrelli. I know she’s the one who put you up to it. Do you think you can warn her about me before I get there? Do you even want to, knowing she’s the one who’s really responsible for Janice’s death?’ I stand on my tiptoes and bite his throat, just hard enough to leave a mark. I’ll see about something more permanent later. I know it’s old fashioned of me but I’ve never been one to flit from one man to another. I’ve always found something very attractive about wedding rings and other outward physical signs of ownership.
The telephone makes Parkman’s voice a little tinny on the telephone. He’s telling Mama Petrelli to stop wasting time and get out of the house now. Mama Petrelli is refusing to be rushed, which she’ll regret, but not for long. Typically heroic of him to try to save her even she’s the one who persuaded him to this lunacy.
And this is why five-inch stiletto heels may be the stylish choice, but they’re rarely the practical choice. Mama Petrelli makes it a few steps and then goes down like a well-dressed baby elephant. Parkman is still shouting on the phone, so I TK her where she is, and take a few moments to let Matt know I’m here.
Relationships are all about openness, don’t you find?
Mama Petrelli is more of a screamer than I’d have guessed. You never can tell which of them will scream and which of them will whimper. Both of them are satisfying in their own, different, ways. Some people freeze, some shudder, and some flop around as Mama Petrelli is doing. Unfortunately, though I can hear the distant sound of sirens a couple of miles away, so I will have to give her a little less attention than would be ideal. The message should be clear though, to anyone bothering to look.
I spend a few hours enjoying the delights of being myself in the big city, as well as finding somewhere to live. Nathan’s townhouse wouldn’t be my taste; even it won’t be crawling with agents of all creeds. Besides, I need somewhere nice and quiet, for when I choose to have my new playmate stay over.
I’m surprised again when I go by Parkman’s apartment building and hear the distinctive fetch and carry of his heart beating. I expected him to have gone and that I’d have to torture his neighbours and building super into telling me where they’d gone. Matty’s little pitter-patter is there too, completely different from the deeper sound of the baby on the fifth floor and the metallic bounce of the toddler on the eighteenth. Did Parkman think I was bluffing? Would he really risk setting some sort of trap for me? He’s singing tunelessly, some Yiddisher nursery rhyme that he’s struggling to remember, hardly the behaviour of a man sitting by the door with an elephant tranquiliser.
I’m a little disappointed; I was expecting a chase across the state, hunting him down in the hotels and motels of cities and towns. Sitting tight in his, no doubt tiny and miserable apartment, and playing loving father takes away so much of the fun. Where’s the joy of being the hunter when the prey doesn’t run?
Perhaps for once someone actually listened to what I said. Or was he listening to what I was thinking? It’s definitely Parkman in there and the baby with him. Does Parkman have it him to have laid traps in the apartment?
I take it back; it’s more fun not knowing which way he’ll jump. It’s far more exciting than anticipating his every move.
The little one’s heartbeat is slowed now, sleeping probably, and Parkman’s is starting to slow. It’s still early, but Nathan had memories of sleeping as and when he and Heidi could get their boys to sleep. Matty was certainly well behaved for me but then I’ve always gotten on well with children. Still, single parenthood is a difficult path and it behoves us all to assist those attempting it wherever we can. I’ll let Parkman have a few hours sleep before I wake sleeping beauty from his slumber.
The door is triple barred and he has a couple of chairs wedged up against it, rather sweet really. The little one is sleeping peacefully in a brand new crib in Parkman’s bedroom. The apartment is as small as I guessed, drab, and dismal but clean.
The baby complains when I pick up the crib but really, I do have a very finely attuned sense of what’s proper. I put his crib in the living room and shut the doors; it wouldn’t do for his grizzling to wake up Parkman before I’m ready.
He’s sleeping badly, calling out the ex-wife’s name as he thrashes. This is the man that that “Nathan” plotted fruitlessly to manipulate, the face that he watched desperately for any sign of affection or regard, the man he resentfully worshipped. This man had me whipped, bound, caged inside my own mind. That’s not something a man forgives easily.
I TK the bedclothes back and he shivers in the chill, despite the t-shirt and boxers he’s wearing. This is the man who thought to control me, to own me; this man is so utterly vulnerable. I take off my shoes before straddling his body, there’s absolutely no excuse for shoes on a bed.
‘Parkman, wake up,’ I whisper into his ear. ‘Open your eyes.’
He whines softly as my voice registers.
‘Parkman, wake up.’
His eyes open, and then widen as he struggles to wake up. His gaze darts to the corner of the room where the crib was.
‘Relax, he’s in the living room,’ I promise. ‘I told you I’m going to be looking out for him.’ I sit up and TK on the light. ‘Did you ever meet Eric Doyle? He called himself The Puppeteer, as if he was some petty comic book villain. Did you know him?’
‘No.’ The word comes from his lips like a bullet from a gun.
‘No? Well you’re two sides of the same coin. You control the mind and he controls...’ I make a gesture and he sits up... ‘the body.’ A few small movements and he strips off his t-shirt, jerkily pulling it over his head and throwing it aside. ‘Hmm? Something to say? Well, I suppose a little conversation is normal. You can talk dirty if you like.’ I sit on the bed and have him remove his boxers. ‘I met him, when I was experimenting with letting people live when I’d taken their powers. Fun isn’t it?’
He works his mouth as if he’s testing his ability to speak. ‘Are you going to torture me? Cut off the top of my head. Impale me on the wall with kitchen implements.’
‘Goodness Matt I had no idea your version of “dirty talk” would be so... hard-core. I’m honestly a little shocked.’ I have him lie down and then I straddle his waist. ‘But I’m... excited, too.’ I lean down and flick my tongue over his lips. ‘Behind the boy scout exterior there are all kinds of twisted sick things going on aren’t there?’
‘Why can’t I use my ability?’ he asks in a dull, flat voice. He’s past the soaring peaks of hysteria and into the placid waters of surrendered terror. Past fight, past flight, and instead in the blank space where the mind simply gives up on dealing with the reality in front of it.
‘I’ve suppressed it. I found the little part inside your brain and put it to sleep for a little while. You’ve had it all your own way and now it’s my turn.’ I TK open the bedside table and search through the scraps of paper, old keys, and other rubbish. ‘Points for avoiding the obvious clichés of lube and condoms in the bedside table. Where do you keep them?’
‘You’re going to rape me?’ he asks.
‘Well, duh, Parkman. I have you stripped naked and helpless in your bed,’ I point out. I TK open all the draws in the room and get up to rifle through them.
‘You never... the files never said you raped anyone else,’ he says, and now his voice is starting to shake a little.
‘To be fair though, nobody else ever raped me first,’ I say, finding the lube and condoms in a shoebox. ‘Here we are.’
I have him roll onto his front, and his head drops down onto the pillow. ‘I didn’t do that,’ he says quietly. ‘Whatever I did to you, I didn’t do that.’
‘Parkman, Parkman, Parkman,’ I sigh, straddling his legs. ‘You twisted and abused my mind until I was willing to let you do anything to me. Is that your definition of consent?’
No answer.
I lean down and touch his face.
‘Tears, Parkman? Not for me I hope.’
This is less fun than I anticipated. Parkman fighting and protesting would be fun, but Parkman miserable and utterly resigned to being wretched is just... sad really.
I shift into a shape I’ve never used before but one I’ve studied and have him roll onto his back. He looks up at me blearily and I have him wipe his eyes dry.
‘Would you prefer this, Matthew?’ I ask, and practice a different bright, wide smile.
‘Mohinder doesn’t call me Matthew,’ he mutters.
‘I beg your pardon, Matt.’
He’s still crying as I kiss him, as I part his legs and prepare him.
‘Why’re you doing this?’ he asks, licking his lips. ‘Why looking like... like that?’
He catches his breath as I enter him, and his hand grabs at the sheet. I suppose I must be letting him do that. I don’t know why I’m doing that either.
‘We’re going to be together a long time,’ I promise, adjusting my angle to make him moan softly. ‘I’m going to take very thorough care of you.’
The End