| Fanfic! "The Exterminator" |
[May. 25th, 2007|04:52 pm] |
Title: The Exterminator
Rating: PG for implied tastybraining.
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC and Tim Kring.
Characters: Dubious!Pseudonym!Sylar, Meredith Gordon
Table/Prompt: Table 4, Prompt 03 (Fire).
Word Count: 1,133
Spoilers: The identity of Claire’s birth parents.
Summary: AU, post-‘Parasite’. Meredith Gordon gets a visit from a stranger she wasn’t expecting…
Author's Notes: Um… *points up at table* Just pretend you haven’t read the ‘characters’ bit, mkay? And that the eyebrows don't give him away.
There was a firm knock on the caravan door -- Nathan? she thought, starting upwards and staring in the direction of the sound. When he’d left, she hadn’t missed the brief pause, the half-glance back that he’d quickly covered up. So she held her breath, and tucked a loose curl behind her ear before walking uncertainly to the front of the caravan. A nervous smile flickered across her lips as she slid back the catch and opened the door.
Her blossoming smile was, to her annoyance, delivered not to Nathan but to a tall, dark-haired man with a bulging bag and a heavy-featured face. His eyes bored into her from the second she opened the door, giving her the uncomfortable feeling that she was being inspected, before the stare was suddenly replaced by a disarming smile.
“Here about a roach problem, Miss, ah… Gordon?” he said in an easy Southern accent, touching his hat to her.
“I didn’t call about no roaches,” she replied uncertainly, holding the door half-closed.
The man’s eyes widened a little. “The gen’lemen who own the site did,” he said. “There’s a lot of them creeping around, and heck if this ain’t the eighth home I’ve been to where no-one’s been told. Sorry ‘bout the trouble.”
“It ain’t no trouble.” Meredith didn’t take her hand off the doorknob, though, nor step out of the way. She watched him for a moment, still uncertain. There was the occasional roach, to be sure; but no more than usual. Maybe the landlords had finally decided to do something about them?
“I s’pose you need to come in?” she asked him.
The smile almost became a laugh. “Can’t very well check for roaches from out here, now can I?”
She paused, then stepped back into the caravan, opening the door all the way so that the man could step through. “Didn’t catch your name there?”
“Isaac Mendez, Miss Gordon,” he said, striding into the living room. “Don’t mind which you use, though I’ve never been much for formals meself.”
“This gonna take long, Isaac?” Meredith had followed him into the lounge, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed loosely against her stomach. “I have tea, if you’re settling in.”
He looked at her with delight. “You’re a peach.”
“It’s no trouble,” she said again, though she didn’t make any move towards the promised tea. She wasn’t entirely ready to take this strange man at his word, not yet. And she was—though not in a thousand years would this thought see daylight—irrationally annoyed at him for not being Nathan.
Isaac watched her, still and unblinking, for a few seconds before moving towards the window. “You mind if I close the blinds? The little menaces won’t show themselves in the light. Need to see where they’re hiding themselves.”
She shrugged and made a ‘why not?’ gesture towards him. He swivelled the blinds shut, and then raised one thick black eyebrow at her expectantly.
“Milk an’ two,” he prompted, with just a shade of impatience.
“Oh—yeah.” Meredith stepped backwards, frowning slightly, and clattered into the kitchen. The man’s attitude, the regal way he held himself, bothered her: this wasn’t a bloody hotel, after all. See if he got any sugar.
There was tea in the fridge, so she wiped out a mug while the ice steamed gently, filled it with the golden-brown liquid, and almost dropped it when she turned to see Isaac looming in the doorway. He took the mug from her in silence — despite a hint of surprise as he saw the lime and the ice-cubes swimming in it — and sniffed it slowly, watching her face.
“I haven’t poisoned it, you know,” said Meredith sourly, the last of her good humour evaporating all at once. “And ain’t you meant to be setting up in the other room?”
Ignoring her, his inspection apparently over, Isaac took a quick sip of the tea. His face creased into a scowl. “I asked for two sugars. Weren’t you listening?”
“Listen, this isn’t some fancy tea-stop,” she returned, hands on her hips. “Just do the job you came in here for, right?”
In the silence that followed, his eyes flickered discomfortingly up and down her, and he—smirked.
“Fine.”
He seated himself like he owned the place, leaning back in one of the plasticky chairs, arms spread casually and one palm pressed against the tabletop. To her shock, Meredith found her feet pressed likewise to the cheap linoleum, too heavy to lift.
“Let me go!”
“I hear you have a gift, Meredith,” the man said pleasantly, his warm Southern accent falling away. He tilted his head slightly sideways, dark eyes fixed on her face. “A very special talent. I want you to show me.”
“Listen, buster, I don’t know who you are or—or what you’re talking about—but you’d better get outta my home!” Meredith said angrily, trying to conceal the rising panic in her throat. She was squirming, her arms thrust out for balance, trying to pull away from the force holding her, but her feet and legs were frozen in place as firmly as the man’s hand was pressed against the table.
His smile twitched. “That wasn’t a request.”
He snapped his hand into a fist and drew it slowly towards him; at the same time, Meredith was seized in an invisible vice and dragged from one end of the tiny kitchen to the other. When she stopped, quivering, she was close enough to be practically touching the man’s face with her outstretched hand. His face calm, he very carefully and deliberately put down the tea-mug, sliding it to the exact centre of the table before turning his attention back to her.
Meredith acted in a second. The instant he looked at her, his eyes unguarded, she forced all her anger and energy into a gout of flame that spat out roaring crimson into the man’s smug, hateful face. The power holding her in place flickered, stuttered—
…and then snapped back into place, as strong as ever.
As the flames died into mist, she saw with growing horror that the man was unharmed, that his mouth had opened slightly in anticipation, and that his skin was tinted a crisp frosty blue, letting off waves of cold like an open freezer.
“That’s beautiful,” he murmured, rotating her unmoving body like some relic in a museum.
Then, eyes rapt, he tilted her so that she leaned stiffly towards him, unable to move or even speak. She couldn’t cry out, but gasped back a sob, blinking furiously as her eyes stung with tears. A twitch of his finger fixed her arms to her sides, and as the blue chill faded, he sat up, intent and alert. With careful fingers he tucked her long hair out of the way, before pointing unerringly at her forehead.
He held her jaw shut so that she couldn’t scream. |
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