Lydia

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

Dearest Amanda,

( His name was Danny. )

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dreams to shame

( I ran home )

And still I dream she'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

( I found a new home.  )

I had a dream my life would be
So different from the hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed

[Mohinder is capableof_both and mine to use for purposes of this fic/verse. Samuel is offering_hope, Sylar is heroslayer and both are mentioned with permission. Edgar is not aimed at any particular muse, 'cause we don't have an Edgar in 'verse. :-D]

He was watching her again. He did that a lot, those dark eyes burning across the arid ground, boring into bared, painted skin like he could peel it back with a look and expose even more of her. What was he looking for, she wondered. Some proof of her perfidy, no doubt. That he didn't trust Samuel and trusted her even less she didn't need her ability to know, though neither of them had given him any reason for such virulent mistrust. Hadn't she vacated Sylar's bed and left it to him with nary an argument? Hadn't Samuel offered him a place, a home, a family, when he'd been lost and wandering, rejected for the things he'd done by even those who once claimed to be his closest friends? He'd killed. He'd tortured. He'd maimed. She knew what he was, what blackened his soul as surely as it soaked through others' here, and yet, there he sat in his bright linen, peeling an apple, watching her as if she were something less than him.

Why? What had she done to him, ever? Shared the bed of the man he loved? He couldn't say he'd not bedded anyone else but Sylar. She'd told Sylar no lies, done nothing but give him comfort when he was lost, something and someone to cling to, a haven from the storm. Was it because she belonged to someone else? Samuel knew where she was, what she'd done, had sent her to do it, even, to make the former killer at home. It hadn't been a hardship. Was that the good doctor's problem? Not that she'd gone to Sylar's bed, but that she'd done it at Samuel's direction, for purposes other than lust or love? Well, other than love. Even without his memory, Sylar remembered what to do in the bedroom, and she hadn't needed to pretend much of anything, though that was a secret she'd keep close to herself. Samuel's jealousy was the last thing they needed added to the mix.

An itching sensation crawled along her skin and she finally threw down the trowel from the ditch she'd been digging. Another pair of dark eyes snapped up, catching the movement, and then another, and another, and she knew full well that three others watched her progress across the stretch of ground that separated her from the Indian. She didn't stop, even so, not until she was enough into his space that Mohinder was forced to straighten to meet her, something vaguely like alarm in his eyes.

( 'What is your problem?' she asked, voice low, but hard. )

[ooc: Noah Bennet is im_exhibita and is used with permission.]

Don't know much about your life.
Don't know much about your world, but
Don't want to be alone tonight,
On this planet they call earth.

You don't know about my past, and
I don't have a future figured out.
And maybe this is going too fast.
And maybe it's not meant to last

Lydia wasn't sure what to make of the world she'd found herself in. The outside world had changed so much since she'd joined the carnival. With Samuel gone, she could go back, she knew. It was a possibility, at least. They were her family, and had been for near as long as her biological one, and she couldn't go back to that one. Carol had made that very clear in their last conversation. But back there, among them, around every corner, in each tent, in the smell of greasepaint and ink, lingered the ghost of the man who'd ruined everything, including her.

He'd thought she was going to take them from him, but with him gone, she couldn't find the heart in her to lead the family forward into this world. She took Noah Bennet's invitation instead, looking instinctively toward a new protector in an uncertain world, and as the days stretched into weeks, still she stayed, finding comfort in the steady presence of the man who'd mere name had once terrified her far more than a serial killer's could.

He was a mystery, and one she wanted to solve, though he shied a little from her touches, years of training and paranoia not leaving him very open to the brush of her hand and the intrusion of her gift. So, she tried to figure him out the conventional way, with questions over cereal, and deeper conversations as the nights grew longer, curled up on his sofa, her bare feet tucked under her skirts to fend off the cold of the New York winter, and still he eluded her with half answers and careful evasions.

She figured she couldn't be upset. When he turned the tables, she played the same game, skimming over the shadows of her past with half-truths and blatant lies, crafting a childhood out of figments of imagination and stories culled from others around campfires that once lit the night in a place she'd called home. But it annoyed her, all the same, as her curiosity became an ache to know him, to crack that unflappable facade and peer beneath.

I just want to start again,
Maybe you could show me how to try,
Maybe you could take me in,
Somewhere underneath your skin?

And I had my heart beaten down,
But I always come back for more, yeah.
There's nothing like love to pull you up,
When you're lying down on the floor there.

When she settled on his lap, she thought he'd rebuff her, push her aside however gently. He considered it, she knew, felt the urge rise up in him to compete with the other, more primal one. The woman he'd brought with him to the carnival had faded from his life, though, and it had been as long for him as it was her. In the meeting of their lips, the brush of tongues, she found some of her answers, and for a few moments she indulged her curiosity without shame, learning him as he surrendered, as men eventually all did, and let his hands learn her.

Somewhere between the sofa and the bed, though, questions about his past, his motives, his heart, his mind, faded away. It seemed she'd been cold for months, caught in the web of a betrayal, pierced by a kiss that had been nothing like what she craved, but killed more in her than any bullet could have. Noah's touches found those frozen places, and Lydia shivered, near pain slipping through her as his emotions slid into her as thoroughly as his body did, and forced her to feel her own, reawakening more than just desire.

She cried in his arms, after, the first tears she'd let herself shed since that day, and when the tears ran out, he was still there, still holding her, and she remembered what it meant to have hope.

What do you say to taking chances,
What do you say to jumping off the edge?
Never knowing if there's solid ground below
Or hand to hold, or hell to pay,
What do you say,
What do you say?

Lydia didn't deceive herself that Sylar loved her in the way little girls dreamed of being loved one day, but she wasn't a little girl anymore, and what he offered was more than the shattered fantasies they both had left behind, and she promised herself she'd make sure he never regretted choosing her.

[ooc: AU 'verse based on spin-off from Heroes graphic novels "Bloodlines, part 1 & 2" - Joseph not aimed at any particular journal. Samuel is offering_hope].

Eastern Europe, Christmas, 2008

Lydia stood in the shadows of the trailer, stunned. She couldn't have heard Joseph right, couldn't have. Surely she must have been distracted by the horror of what he described to Arnold, about Coyote Sands, and misheard what he asked the time traveler to do, yes? And if she hadn't been? If she had heard him correctly? Something inside her heart seemed to constrict tightly, a fluttering, aching feeling that made it hard to breathe. There was nothing she could do. Arnold was already gone, and if he did what Joseph had asked...her whole world would change.

But Christmas morning dawned and the world was still the same. Lydia watched Joseph with speculative eyes, watched his darting looks at Samuel, the worry around his eyes, and she finally dared ask where Arnold was, a picture of innocence. Joseph didn't answer, not really, just saying something about work the time traveler had to do, but later he came with Samuel to her trailer asking them to use their new found ability to work together and find Arnold.

Samuel's fingers were warm on her skin, the pierce of the needle quickly familiar, and she reached out for the lost family member a little desperately, even as she tried to hold on to the presence of the man next to her.

"Arnold's not missing in the past," Lydia said, looking back over her shoulder at Joseph. "He's right here, in the present day."

Even as old as he was, even with the tumor, it was possible Arnold could still travel, she thought, once they had him back home. Joseph's words rang in her ears, praising her and swearing her to secrecy about Emile Danko. Or, well, not secrecy, but just asking her not to tell Samuel. He wasn't going to send Arnold back again. He apparently wasn't that cruel to someone so frail--just to family. His intentions came through loud and clear as his hands curled around her hands.

Couldn't he see that fate had been on Samuel's side? That something greater than he was had stepped in to stop him murderous intent? He'd sent Arnold back to murder a baby in his crib. Her mind flashed to Amanda, to her lost baby, the one she ached for every day, so helpless against the world, and the thought of her idol doing something like that, and to someone she...her heart twisted.

This Danko person had killed Arnold's son. She'd just told Joseph that, and again he was planning to put his own blood in the line of fire.

For a while she sat in her trailer, robe wrapped tight around her, torn between loyalty to the man who had saved her and the growing feelings that had taken root so many years before and blossomed more each year. Her idol's feet were made of clay, apparently, and that hurt. And Samuel...had done nothing to deserve such a fate.

Mind made up, the bitter feeling of betrayal burning inside of her, she made her way across the space that separated her trailer from Samuel's and knocked lightly. He had the right to know what Joseph was planning, and to protect himself, and she'd do whatever it took to help him.

1. "Most people have seen worse things in private than they pretend to be shocked at in public." ~ Edgar Watson Howe

2. "Be courteous to all, but intimate with few; and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence." ~ George Washington

3. "You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough." ~ Frank Crane

4. "If we can connect in some tiny way with a human that doesn't agree with us, then maybe we won't blow up the planet." ~ Nancy White

5. "Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence." ~ H. L. Mencken

6. "Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart." ~ Lois McMaster Bujold

7. "It is the loving, not the loved, woman who feels lovable." ~ Jessamyn West

8. "A good home must be made, not bought." ~ Joyce Maynard

9. "Sometimes it is the quiet observer who see the most." ~ Kathryn L. Nelson,

10. "Forgiveness is one of the many horrible side effects of loving someone." ~ Randy K. Milholland

So many of her tattoos move on their own, not etched into her skin so much as blossoming out of her ability, but the ones she creates for him come with the brush of fingertips, the press of a needle, the flow of his power and ink, and a ripple of pleasure and connection unlike anything she's ever known.

[ooc: The use of Sylar isn't aimed at any particular muse. Just playing around with canon interpretation a bit. If anyone would be interested in playing off of it, please let me know. :-)]

The first time she speaks to Sylar, she knows what Samuel wants of her. He doesn't have to say anything blatant, nor does he demand she cross any lines she isn't comfortable with. Be nice. Make him feel welcome, like he could be part of the family.

In truth, it's nothing he needs to ask--she'd do that for any lost soul who found a way to them. It's part of her gift to be able to connect with other people, to know what to say to make them feel safe. She can't be offended at Samuel wanting that from her, and Sylar doesn't make it difficult to do her job. Even as confused and lost as he is, he's charming, and he's kind to her, and the smiles she gives him don't have to be faked. He makes her laugh, and the more comfortable he becomes, the more she wants to see if she can return the favor, coax a smile, ease the confusion behind his eyes. Edgar's jealousy takes her aback, the juggler seeing something there she hadn't intended, but once her attention is drawn to it, she can't deny the faint pulse of awareness that moves between them. Not what her friend intended, no, and it hurts her to see him upset, but Sylar...did nothing wrong, in her mind. Edgar had no right to go acting as if she were some possession of his to start a fight over. When Sylar stands after dinner, a member of their family, she slides into his arms without reservation, her own desire fueling each movement far more than any edict from Samuel could.

It's been too long since she's let herself really connect with anyone more deeply than a random encounter, but she gives as much as she takes that night, and if she's smiling the next morning, she doesn't think anyone can blame her. A girl deserves to have a little fun in between all the work, sometimes. If it hurts a little when he disappears without a word, she keeps that to herself.

It's different when he comes back. Things have deteriorated; the center is not holding. Her family is falling apart around her: Samuel has lost his way completely; she's been to the past, seen Joseph's death; Amanda is in danger, but won't listen and leave; Edgar has been banished. And Sylar arrives ready to kill them all. Samuel's casual assumption that she'll just take him to her bed again hurts more than it should for reasons she doesn't want to admit, and she's afraid of him, afraid for Amanda, resentful at being ordered to be a whore. Before was her choice, when she still believed in the message she was bringing. Now...

But when she touches him, when his lips meet hers, the flare of feeling is still the same. Under the anger, the resentment, the fear, the desperate need to find them all a savior is a woman's want. He's new to her power. He doesn't see that far. They trade their lies, both of them lost--his fear wraps around hers, but there's too much at stake to truly comfort him, not this time. And if she fixes him...finds his ability to kill again...what then of those she loves? It all gets tangled and frustration fuels her words, and then it's over and he's gone, and she can't take back anything she said.

She wonders if he knows she didn't mean the last, wonders if he heard the lie, wonders if he ever wanted her the way she wanted him, wonders if he could have been the one to save them all if only she'd played her hand a little better, wonders what might have been, then.

She keeps on wondering over the wanting, but the answers never come.

This one seems appropriate...

The ones that don't change:

1. Flowers and vines on my abdomen.
2. A butterfly on my left arm.
3. Flowers and vines on my back.
4. A swallow on my right forearm.
5. A matching swallow on my left forearm.
6. A scarab on the right side of my neck.
7. Flowers and vines on the left side of my neck.
8. A star on my right arm.
9. A mermaid on my right arm.
10. More flowers and vines wrapping around my shoulders.

The ones that have appeared and gone:

1. Amanda
2. Peter Petrelli
3. Emile Danko
4. Sylar
5. Hiro Nakamura
6. Charlie Andrews
7. Noah Bennet
8. Claire Bennet
9. Arnold
10. A marionette.

Tonight the sunset means so much
The one thing that you know you'll never touch
Like the feeling, the real thing
I reach out for that sweet dream

But somehow the darkness wakes me up
I've felt this emptiness before
But all the times that I've been broken
I still run right back for more

When it started, Lydia couldn't say. More than a decade of protecting her heart, of keeping out even those she knew meant her no harm, and one day she looked up and realized it wasn't hers anymore. Whether she'd lost it in between the brush of fingers and the press of a needle, or the flow of ink and a connection formed to the person controlling it, or in some twisted up feeling that he was safe, because he was the only one who seemed to look at her and not want her, she didn't know. Oh, now and then she sensed a shiver of desire slipping between them, but no more than any healthy straight man for a pretty girl, and always with a more pressing need overlying it. He wanted what she and her flesh could do with her gift far more than he wanted what else she could do, and part of her was grateful for it, at first.

Then she wasn't. It was the faintest flicker of disappointment that ran through her when he sent her away, done with her and on to something else already that gave her pause. He'd thanked her civilly, been nothing but kind and grateful, but...been nothing but kind and grateful. She told herself it was womanly pique, and went to find Edgar who soothed it with each smile that told her as clear as any touch how devoted he would be to her if she just said the word. But her thoughts lingered back in another trailer, with another man, and she excused herself early, with a kiss to Edgar's cheek and a squeeze of his hand, and curled up on her bed, chin resting on her knees to think about the upset swirling inside her.

She could make him notice her that way, she was certain. The question was--did she want to? Sometimes, it was better just to ache from afar. Love never ended well, from what she'd seen. But somewhere in the night, she made a vague decision to at least try.

You'd think that I'd learn my lesson by now
You'd think that I'd somehow figure out
That if you strike the match
You're bound to feel the flame

You think that I'd learn the cost of love
Paid that price long enough
But still I drive myself right through the pain

Slipping herself into Samuel's confidence wasn't a hard thing to do. She listened to him, understood him. Her gift was good for that, and she knew how to give people what they needed. He needed someone who believed in him, and she became that, even before Joseph died. After...after it seemed too late. Questions rose, and her heart started to tear a little as she felt Samuel's desire for power growing. His words and what she felt from him were in discord, and that hurt, twisting around inside of her.

Amanda drove another nail in, piercing something inside of her and throwing a mother's love up against a woman's. Nothing she had said or done seemed to pull Samuel's focus any deeper into her, and now it was growing farther out, so far he was acting against her. She could ask Edgar for something, and he would do it, but even begging Samuel, he wouldn't heed her, and there was nowhere she could put that pain, that doubt.

The sketch of the woman was a crushing blow. All he had shared with her, everything she thought she knew about him, as intimate as she believed them to be, even without the final intimacy, and he'd kept this hidden from her. No wonder he'd never wanted her, never loved her. His heart wasn't even free to want, and all of this, all he'd wanted from her was to let him have someone else.

Even knowing that, even knowing what he'd done, knowing he was planning nothing good, seeing the woman brought into their home, offered the place she'd wanted--and turning it down--even going to Sylar, rage twisting up and over the love in her heart, part of her wanting Samuel dead for all the pain he'd caused...

Even then, when he begged her to trust him, she wanted to, more than anything. Fool that she was, she still wanted to believe in him, believe that there was a chance, believe he'd see the error of his ways, come around.

She kept hoping right until he gave her what she'd craved for so long, lips pressing against hers as she struggled for breath, and ripped her world apart for the final time.

Yeah, well it turns out, I haven't learned a thing