JMM 37.10 Defying Gravity [For hadtobeahero and <lj site="livejou

[thepainted_lady]

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game

The music was loud and the crowd was already drunk at noon, as Lydia made her way through the press of their too-hot bodies. She’d killed a girl heading this way and taken her clothes--her own far too ripped and bloody from her run through the woods--and boots (since she’d run off without any shoes) and felt like she fit in fairly well, though she was still occasioning quite a bit of comment.

Then again, women in leather miniskirts, corset tops and boots tended to do that anywhere. She felt a hand on her ass and let it pass. It was a grope, sure, but a quick sense from the touch...he wouldn’t take it farther if she complained. Not what she was looking for, then. She wanted her usual prey, but she needed a lot of them, or their kin. People the world wouldn’t miss, people she could use and still face herself in the morning.

Edgar had mentioned this place as somewhere to avoid, last time they passed through the area. She saw why when her attention was caught by the group in the corner.

Unfortunately for Edgar’s peace of mind, she had no intention of avoiding them today.

* * *

A half hour later, she was on the back of the bike of their leader, his blood singing in her veins--not enough to incapacitate him, but enough to give her compulsion an iron-clad hold. She’d tasted the others, too, for the same reason, and killed one more so she would be at her strongest and now they were winging their way back to Füssen. She locked down her emotions tight, letting herself go numb for the moment to give no signal of her approach. If she was right...Samuel wouldn’t be able to feel the bond between her and Sylar as sire and progeny, and if her emotions were shut down...he wouldn’t pick up on anything empathically, either.

Besides, she needed to be cold to face Peter again.

“Stay here,” she told the men, sliding off the back of the bike and pointing to an abandoned warehouse. John was down here somewhere, she was sure of it. “Don’t make any noise, don’t get into trouble. Sleep, until I call you.” She took one of their cell phones and waved it at the leader. “When I call...you’ll come immediately to me, understood?”

He nodded, looking at her a little glassily.

“Good boy.”

* * *

She visited a shop she’d found a couple of weeks before, filled with teas from all over the world, and smiled at the woman, who recognized her despite the somewhat...drastic change in her appearance.

“Everything’s at the cleaners,” Lydia said, making a face at her clothes. “All I had left was the costume I wore to a party on Halloween...”

The woman laughed, then, and they discussed the silliness of men and costumes and the things they forced themselves into, and yes, of course, she had exactly what Lydia needed, and she handed it over. Lydia shuddered a little bit, though she hid it, and was careful not to let any of it touch her skin.

“Could you mix some up for me, straight, in a to-go cup, and then another batch....blended in with something to mask it? My boyfriend hates the taste of the herb, but it’s the only thing that helps with his headaches, and he’s got such an awful one today...” She gave the woman an appealing little smile, tucking the pure herb away in a bag.

Another smile, and five minutes later, Lydia walked out of the store with one hot cup of vervain tea in her hand, ready to be poured down the throat of one Peter Petrelli, forcibly if necessary, and a neatly wrapped up tea bag, just waiting to be brewed.

Some people’s habits were, after all, just a little too predictable.

Now to find Peter, and change the rules of this game to hers.

Comments

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

He snarled, snatching something up off the dresser on his side of the glass, and pitched it at her. It was largely ineffectual, though, and so he didn't bother trying again, instead balling his fingers into fists as his side, tongue darting out to trace over his lips.

"I know all of your buttons, Lydia -- I pushed every one. I made you think he saw you for what you truly are. I made you feel it." So, no, she wasn't supposed to have figured it out. This wasn't supposed to be happening.

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

"You did." She'd give him that. "And up until then, it was a masterful performance. I mean, really. Well-done. And even then...You had his power, my power, so. No point lying...last night wasn't my best night ever. But..."

She shrugged, affecting way more nonchalance than she felt. Everything was twisting around inside her, and she was pretty sure she was going to be sick. She slipped out of the biker girl's jacket, the constriction of the leather too much with the discomforting tightness under her skin. "Do you want to know what the 'but' is?"

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

Trapped as he was, he doubted he was going to get out of hearing where she'd been going, but that didn't stop him from rolling his eyes. Or from huffing out an irritated sigh. "What's that, Lydia?"

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

"You forgot what you used me for all those years. To know people, inside and out. And maybe I am a whore, but a whore's job isn't to lay back and spread her legs. It's to know men. I know you, Samuel. Better than you know yourself. And I know him. I admit it took me a few hours to consider the possession angle, but once I had..." She held his eyes in the mirror. "You could never be him."

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

He looked decidedly unfazed by her statement -- if anything, actually, he seemed almost amused, his eyes sparkling with dark malice. "I think you've a bit confused. The geisha of Japan, the consorts of India -- there the one meant to know men, and you're not nearly as clever as they are. Whores on the other hand? That is your job -- it's what you've done all your life. Daddy, Peter, Sylar. It's all you've ever done and what you always will do. You got lucky this time, Lydia. Nothing more."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

"And, yet, in the space of 24 hours, this whore undid all your clever little plans. I'm going back to my life, and my family, now, while you go straight back to Hell." The sickness was still rising, and she reached for a chair, hefting it, and swinging at the mirror with all her preternatural strength.

"Goodbye, Samuel."

[hadtobeahero]

Despite the fact that he knew that it was coming, Peter jumped when the mirror shattered, scrambling back a few steps to avoid the rain of glass. Considering how very little he knew about magic and the fact that the shards were oddly non-reflective, almost black, when they hit the ground, he was pretty sure he'd made the right decision. And he stood there in silence for a moment, staring at them before he dared to shift back closer to the group.

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia stared at the shattered pieces of the mirror for a moment, letting the glass fall around her, somehow avoiding being cut by some miracle or another. Then the sickness that had been welling up since she'd come in the room and seen Samuel on the floor hit and she made a dash toward the bathroom, hitting the floor by the toilet just in time to be violently ill, most of whatever had been left of the bikers leaving her system accompanied by heaving sobs.

[hadtobeahero]

Peter moved to follow her to the bathroom; John stopped him with four weary words. "Let her be, boy."

Peter looked to him, then away, intently studying the floor, and nodded. He stood there for a moment, dumbly, his fingers curling into fist, something near anger coiling in his chest, but he fought it down, sighing when it had passed. And when it had and in an effort to at least feel as though he was helping someone, he shuffled over to Sylar, dropping down on the ground next to him to check his vitals, half-worried since he hadn't woken up yet.

John probably could have reassured him -- probably should have, in fact -- but he couldn't be bothered. Sylar was fine, he knew that well enough, and if Peter was scared out of his mind? So be it. The boy deserved a little taste of terror for all that he had done to him, and even if he was feeling more generous and less spiteful, he was too damn tired. London was looking better and better every second.

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

When there was nothing left she could expel, and the heaving had stopped, Lydia managed to flush the toilet before curling up on the cool tiles a little weakly, still crying softly, though she was trying to do it silently, feeling shivers running through her.

Eventually she pushed up to sitting, but rested her head on the side of the tub, pressed in the corner of the bathroom. She heard the murmur of voices, softly, but didn't bother to try and make them out. It wasn't Sylar's, and she...really didn't want to face them, to know what they knew, or...have to be strong right now.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

Time passed. How much, John couldn't say, as he spent the majority of it drifting in and out of consciousness, not asleep, not resting, but instead stumbling from black out to black out as he had been certain he would when things had started to wind down. Eventually, though, he managed to drag himself out of the vicious cycle his body had thrown him into, in part thanks to the pain that had started in his jaw, hunger twisting through his veins in burning waves, and he pulled himself out of his chair, shooting Peter a glance.

He considered eating him, briefly, while Sylar was still unconscious and Lydia was indisposed, and then thought better of it. He was hungry, not as mindlessly starved as he had been, and the boy still have vervain in his system. He'd only be hurting himself if he killed him. Such a pity, really.

Sighing, he reached up and scrubbed a hand over his face, then reached for his cane behind him, using it to support him as he hobbled into the bathroom. He stepped in, closing the door behind him, and looked down at Lydia, his expression sympathetic, his emotional walls crumbling in his exhaustion and hunger. He moved to sit next to her on the tiles.

"I'm going to head back to London. I've had my fill of the Germans, I think, and home seems ... " He shook his head, not quite sure he wanted to admit to wanting to run and hide, even though it was probably painfully apparent. He sighed. "I'll go by train. I can still catch the last one of the evening if I hurry, and I don't think I'm well enough yet to make the flight. I can be home by tomorrow morning."

He paused, reaching into his breast pocket for the ring of keys Samuel either hadn't noticed or hadn't thought to strip him of when he'd detained him, and fidgeted with it long enough to slide an ancient silver one off the ring. He put the keys back and touched a hand to her shoulder, holding the one he'd retrieved out to her. "When your done here -- " And he imagined it wouldn't take long. " -- I want you and my boy to drop in. Bring your human, if you must, but come. Please."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia looked up at him when he came in, and his emotions battened into hers, and she almost whimpered, but held the sound in, biting down on her lip. When he sat, she gave in to the tiny need for some comfort from the storm, and leaned into him a little. He was safe, he was...a week ago, he'd been the one she'd trusted to end it all, and he had, but he'd suffered along the way, along with everyone else, and she didn't know how to make up for that.

That he was offering her a key to his home, that he wanted her there, after all of that...so much that he was willing to take Peter as well, and not just for Sylar...sort of stunned her. She took the key, looking at him a little blankly, not understanding how any of them could want her around after all of this, but she nodded.

"I'll bring him, once he's able to travel..." She didn't know when that would be, hadn't heard him stirring, didn't know if he'd ever recover, though if Peter had, surely Sylar would too? Her eyes slid away, down to the key, fingers tracing the ancient metal. "I'm sorry."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"Give him the night," he suggested, shifting a bit to lean back against her. "You'll likely want to find somewhere else to spend it -- and I'd be willing to give you the key to my flat here, too, if you think one of you has the strength to carry him there -- but he'll be fine in a few hours. Starved, I'm certain, but fine."

He paused again once that was out of the way, pulling away from her to look down at her, frowning. "For what, love?"

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia felt sick again at the mere idea of staying here for the night. "Peter's got a room upstairs," she remembered, "But I could carry him..." Though she wasn't sure she could...on a different level if she didn't have to.

She looked away. "For causing all of this."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I'd suggest taking that, then -- far less work for the lot of you," he said. In spite of that, though, he reached for his keys again, unhooking another one to pass to her. "If you should change your mind, though ... it's on the far end of town, just before the woods. Very old, very hard to miss."

He dropped his hands into his lap. "And as for all of this ... if I plan on blaming anyone, it'll be your human friend or, barring him, myself. I hadn't actually been expecting anything to happen that night in the clearing -- powerful as I must seem to you, I'd been trying for centuries without much luck. If I'd known it was possible and not just the whimsy of an old man, I would have thought to get my hands on some Hawthorn then, and not just to prevent anything else from slipping in."

Considering that the last words he had spoken to Anna had been part of a heated argument, it was a miracle she hadn't been hostile towards him. Hawthorn would have kept her from doing the same to him as Samuel had done to them, on the chance that she was, as well as keeping Samuel from coming over in the first place.

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

She took the key on the off chance that she needed a place away from them. One room, filled with Peter's scent, especially...she wasn't sure how much she'd sleep, and she needed it. Sylar needed food, though, and she would, too, eventually, even if the idea was not at all appealing right now.

"I'm the one who attracted his attention, though," she said softly. "I went..heedlessly off in search of something I'd no right to, and then once it all started..." She shook her head. "I couldn't tell. He had them, toturing them in their own minds, and I...couldn't even tell. I was as blinded to him as I was when human for so long. And what he did to you? That was..."

Peter and Sylar had, admittedly, earned his ire on their own, as much as to hurt her, with thwarting his plans and Sylar's part in his death, but John. "He did that just to hurt me. You were hurt because of me."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"Yet you didn't do so intentionally, dear," he told her patiently. "It was a mistake. They happen. I still make them, even at my age, and you'll probably have made plenty by the time you get as old as me. I doubt they'll all be as bad as this, but ... no one is infallible. Not even us."

He glanced back towards the door, his eyes equal parts distant and unhappy. "And really, I should have known. There was something wrong the day I came to you, after you'd had your nightmare. I felt it on some level, but I couldn't put my finger on it, and so I dismissed it. I imagine I was to concerned with other things to put much thought to it. I had the same feeling when Peter came to me outside the Gasthaus the day I disappeared."

He looked back to her, offering her a wan, wry smile. "You think after four hundred and three years, I'd have learned to trust my gut reactions."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

She tucked her knees up against her chest--a little less comfortably than normal--and if she looked unconvinced by his logic, she was at least listening.

"He's gone now, though, right?" she asked, leaving aside the issue of fault.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

He considered that for a moment, reaching out mentally for whatever he had felt that first day in the room. It was thankfully gone, however -- not that he was expecting it not to be, but it didn't hurt to look -- and he nodded. "He is."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

She leaned back against the tub, closing her eyes, and letting the relief shiver through her. "Thank you," she said softly, after a moment, opening her eyes to look back at him.

"I really am so sorry my...mistake got you hurt, but...thank you for helping me put it right." Or as right as they could.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I'm alive, girl." Or, well, as alive as any of them could be considered, at any rate. He didn't bother putting that addendum in there, though, not wanting to upset or traumatize her any worse than she already had been. Especially not with something that would have been a fairly innocent comment. "And largely thanks to you. I'd say that counts for something and that we can put this all behind us."

Long story short? Apology accepted and she was very welcome.

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia nodded a little bit more, glad he wasn't particularly angry with her, or blaming her for it all. She probably wouldn't stop blaming herself for a while, but it helped to know he didn't.

"I shouldn't keep you, if you want to make your train..." He needed to go home. She understood that. Part of her wanted to, too, but she didn't really have one of those anymore. Samuel had destroyed that along with everything else.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

Nodding, he got to his feet slowly and with some small measure of difficulty, and glanced to the door. He looked back at her very seriously, his next words less a polite request and more an order. "I expect to see you in London in a day or two."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia heard the order in the words and nodded obediently, even if she wasn't quite sure why he'd really want them there. "We'll be there."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"Good girl." He flashed her a thin, tired, smile, and then he turned, heading out of the bathroom, exhaustion apparent in his every step.