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Title: Foul And Faire 1/1
Characters: Claire Bennet, Adam Monroe, Others
Rating: PG-13 for themes
Type: Gen, AU
Disclaimer: Copyright of Heroes is held by the respective owners. No infringement is intended.
Spoiler alert: Through S4
Summary: Claire and Adam confront each other.
Notes: This story is set in the same AU as “Perchance To Dream” and was suggested by the graphic novel, “The Ten Brides of Takezo Kensei.”
Claire Bennet attended Caleb Arable’s funeral along with the various members of the Sullivan Brothers Carnival. Samuel Sullivan, their leader, took her aside afterward. “I’m surprised by Peter Petrelli’s absence,” he said. “I was looking forward to meeting both of you.”
“Peter was looking forward to meeting you, all of you,” assured Claire, “but he went to Haiti at the last minute to help an old friend with an emergency there. Peter asked me to pass along his regrets to the one person he does know here – Adam Monroe.”
Abandoning pretense, Sullivan locked Claire in an empty trailer nearby, terrakinetically burying it and her fifty feet under the earth. “Peter wanted me to tell you you’re scum for plotting world destruction and for using poor Caleb’s end-of-life experience as a trap for us,” she said to Adam Monroe after suffocating. “As for me, I think the microbes in Mom’s dogs’ spit are worth more than you.”
Monroe chuckled from his corner within the Deathscape. “Not that either of you matter,” he countered. “Peter is mere decades away from becoming grave-worm droppings, and you’re a selectively bred, yapping dust mote, rather like those creatures you’ve elevated above me.” He projected dream forms of Mr. Muggles and Miss Lovegood, snorting derisively.
“If we don’t matter,” asked Claire acidly, “why did you go to all that trouble to lure us here with Caleb?”
In answer, Monroe altered their Deathscape surroundings, fashioning a Hall of Mirrors. Each mirror reflected the image of a beautiful, consumptive, young woman. His story and hers reflected and refracted within the glass, as Claire found herself bound fast to a chair with ropes made of butterflies.
In 1901, Adam Monroe and Joseph Sullivan courted two captivating Montreal beauties. Adam wooed and won Diane. Joseph wooed and won her sister – Danielle. Once married, the two couples performed as part of Sullivan’s Phantasmagorical Shadow Faire. Then, Diane’s rosy health became lily white amid their shadows after she contracted tuberculosis.
To save his love, his happiness, Monroe injected Diane with his healing blood while she slept. Saved, his love, his happiness lasted for another twenty years until she died peacefully. Samuel was his Diane’s last living relation through Danielle and Joseph…
The reflected images faded, as Claire regenerated. Oxygen still gone, she closed her eyes, dying…
“You transitioned well,” commented Monroe to the again butterfly-bound girl. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d practice with the subtleties of suffocation.”
“Thanks,” said Claire. “Dad encouraged me to experiment with more covert forms of death. He said people noticed blood and guts.”
“You’ve the Company to thank for his mindset,” said Monroe.
“I’ve the Company to thank for my father, which is why I thanked you,” answered Claire. “You founded it.” After a pause, she added, “I’m glad you loved her as much as I love him.”
“”Does the fact that I loved her make me worth more than the germs in dog spittle?,” he asked, genuinely curious.
“No,” replied Claire. “Loving her means you’ve earned the right to be beheaded with a sharp sword, instead of a dull ax, for all the bad you’ve done and tried to do.”
“What gives a chit like you the right to judge me?,” Monroe asked, contemptuously. “You haven’t even seen a full century in the world you think is worth cherishing.”
“If I don’t judge you, see you for what you are,” Claire answered, “I could end up buried, just like you were.”
Smiling, he whispered in her ear. “You are buried, just like I was.”
With those words, it was the failed samurai’s turn to revive and die. After four centuries of practice, his transition was barely perceptible. Claire recalled what ex-wife – Trina Dawson – had told her. “I slept beside Adam Monroe for nine years,” she said, “watching him will himself dead at night and come back to life in the morning. He’d tell me how beautiful it was…”
Claire projected her dawning realization on to Deathscape mirrors. The envisioned horror streamed from her eyes, nose, and mouth as earth. The earth engulfed the glass, became the glass, reflecting and refracting Monroe’s dark plan. Samuel terrakinetically destroyed the world, the rumbling, cracking doom ignored by the unruffled butterflies binding her.
“You’re so sick that you actually want a Deathscape utopia,” said Claire. “It’ll never happen. Samuel can’t be that powerful.”
“He is,” assured Monroe. “He just lacks confidence, so I’m giving it to him, as a good uncle should.”
Chuckling, again, bitterly, Monroe resumed his mirrored narrative. His former friend, Hiro Nakamura, stopped his hand from releasing the virus, interring him in Aoyama Cemetery. Dead in that nightmare coffin, he tried to reach the living dreams of his eleventh wife – Elle Bishop. She, in her self-imposed sentence on Level 5 for patricide, would not receive him. Fuming that hands held fast amid plighted troths with his former warden counted for nothing, he reached out for other dreamers. The former faire, now carnival, touring Japan gave him new lease and release. Uncle and nephew clasped hands in mutual benefit.
“I’ve convinced Samuel that infusions of my blood will increase his power,” continued Monroe. “The placebo approach is working perfectly.”
“Why would he agree to destroy the world?,” asked Claire, incredulously.
“His lady love rejected him,” answered Monroe, “so he’s in the mood for mass murder and suicide. Convenient, don’t you think? As for you…”
The mirrors reflected Monroe’s anger toward the girl bred to replace him. He stewed in his ire when Elle brought him the files labeled “Claire Bennet” and “Project Folly.” He slapped his wife for her trouble and plotted. “I’d put you on my list of people to be sorted when Bob obligingly handed me the tool for escape and revenge -- your Uncle Peter.” Monroe advanced on Claire. “You need to suffer for a while, buried as I was buried, before I order the end…”
Monroe gasped suddenly, disappearing mid menace. Claire revived and died a dozen more times before Company agents disinterred her. She opened her eyes upon Trina Dawson freezing her former husband in place, icy tears upon her resolute face. The grandmother stepped aside for the swordsman. Neck exposed, the immortal, never to be Claire’s eternal solace, addressed his executioner: “You didn’t borrow the Kensei sword from Nakamura, I see.”
“You were never a true samurai, and I never aspired to be one.” Noah Bennet removed Adam Monroe’s head with one stroke.
Characters: Claire Bennet, Adam Monroe, Others
Rating: PG-13 for themes
Type: Gen, AU
Disclaimer: Copyright of Heroes is held by the respective owners. No infringement is intended.
Spoiler alert: Through S4
Summary: Claire and Adam confront each other.
Notes: This story is set in the same AU as “Perchance To Dream” and was suggested by the graphic novel, “The Ten Brides of Takezo Kensei.”
Claire Bennet attended Caleb Arable’s funeral along with the various members of the Sullivan Brothers Carnival. Samuel Sullivan, their leader, took her aside afterward. “I’m surprised by Peter Petrelli’s absence,” he said. “I was looking forward to meeting both of you.”
“Peter was looking forward to meeting you, all of you,” assured Claire, “but he went to Haiti at the last minute to help an old friend with an emergency there. Peter asked me to pass along his regrets to the one person he does know here – Adam Monroe.”
Abandoning pretense, Sullivan locked Claire in an empty trailer nearby, terrakinetically burying it and her fifty feet under the earth. “Peter wanted me to tell you you’re scum for plotting world destruction and for using poor Caleb’s end-of-life experience as a trap for us,” she said to Adam Monroe after suffocating. “As for me, I think the microbes in Mom’s dogs’ spit are worth more than you.”
Monroe chuckled from his corner within the Deathscape. “Not that either of you matter,” he countered. “Peter is mere decades away from becoming grave-worm droppings, and you’re a selectively bred, yapping dust mote, rather like those creatures you’ve elevated above me.” He projected dream forms of Mr. Muggles and Miss Lovegood, snorting derisively.
“If we don’t matter,” asked Claire acidly, “why did you go to all that trouble to lure us here with Caleb?”
In answer, Monroe altered their Deathscape surroundings, fashioning a Hall of Mirrors. Each mirror reflected the image of a beautiful, consumptive, young woman. His story and hers reflected and refracted within the glass, as Claire found herself bound fast to a chair with ropes made of butterflies.
In 1901, Adam Monroe and Joseph Sullivan courted two captivating Montreal beauties. Adam wooed and won Diane. Joseph wooed and won her sister – Danielle. Once married, the two couples performed as part of Sullivan’s Phantasmagorical Shadow Faire. Then, Diane’s rosy health became lily white amid their shadows after she contracted tuberculosis.
To save his love, his happiness, Monroe injected Diane with his healing blood while she slept. Saved, his love, his happiness lasted for another twenty years until she died peacefully. Samuel was his Diane’s last living relation through Danielle and Joseph…
The reflected images faded, as Claire regenerated. Oxygen still gone, she closed her eyes, dying…
“You transitioned well,” commented Monroe to the again butterfly-bound girl. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d practice with the subtleties of suffocation.”
“Thanks,” said Claire. “Dad encouraged me to experiment with more covert forms of death. He said people noticed blood and guts.”
“You’ve the Company to thank for his mindset,” said Monroe.
“I’ve the Company to thank for my father, which is why I thanked you,” answered Claire. “You founded it.” After a pause, she added, “I’m glad you loved her as much as I love him.”
“”Does the fact that I loved her make me worth more than the germs in dog spittle?,” he asked, genuinely curious.
“No,” replied Claire. “Loving her means you’ve earned the right to be beheaded with a sharp sword, instead of a dull ax, for all the bad you’ve done and tried to do.”
“What gives a chit like you the right to judge me?,” Monroe asked, contemptuously. “You haven’t even seen a full century in the world you think is worth cherishing.”
“If I don’t judge you, see you for what you are,” Claire answered, “I could end up buried, just like you were.”
Smiling, he whispered in her ear. “You are buried, just like I was.”
With those words, it was the failed samurai’s turn to revive and die. After four centuries of practice, his transition was barely perceptible. Claire recalled what ex-wife – Trina Dawson – had told her. “I slept beside Adam Monroe for nine years,” she said, “watching him will himself dead at night and come back to life in the morning. He’d tell me how beautiful it was…”
Claire projected her dawning realization on to Deathscape mirrors. The envisioned horror streamed from her eyes, nose, and mouth as earth. The earth engulfed the glass, became the glass, reflecting and refracting Monroe’s dark plan. Samuel terrakinetically destroyed the world, the rumbling, cracking doom ignored by the unruffled butterflies binding her.
“You’re so sick that you actually want a Deathscape utopia,” said Claire. “It’ll never happen. Samuel can’t be that powerful.”
“He is,” assured Monroe. “He just lacks confidence, so I’m giving it to him, as a good uncle should.”
Chuckling, again, bitterly, Monroe resumed his mirrored narrative. His former friend, Hiro Nakamura, stopped his hand from releasing the virus, interring him in Aoyama Cemetery. Dead in that nightmare coffin, he tried to reach the living dreams of his eleventh wife – Elle Bishop. She, in her self-imposed sentence on Level 5 for patricide, would not receive him. Fuming that hands held fast amid plighted troths with his former warden counted for nothing, he reached out for other dreamers. The former faire, now carnival, touring Japan gave him new lease and release. Uncle and nephew clasped hands in mutual benefit.
“I’ve convinced Samuel that infusions of my blood will increase his power,” continued Monroe. “The placebo approach is working perfectly.”
“Why would he agree to destroy the world?,” asked Claire, incredulously.
“His lady love rejected him,” answered Monroe, “so he’s in the mood for mass murder and suicide. Convenient, don’t you think? As for you…”
The mirrors reflected Monroe’s anger toward the girl bred to replace him. He stewed in his ire when Elle brought him the files labeled “Claire Bennet” and “Project Folly.” He slapped his wife for her trouble and plotted. “I’d put you on my list of people to be sorted when Bob obligingly handed me the tool for escape and revenge -- your Uncle Peter.” Monroe advanced on Claire. “You need to suffer for a while, buried as I was buried, before I order the end…”
Monroe gasped suddenly, disappearing mid menace. Claire revived and died a dozen more times before Company agents disinterred her. She opened her eyes upon Trina Dawson freezing her former husband in place, icy tears upon her resolute face. The grandmother stepped aside for the swordsman. Neck exposed, the immortal, never to be Claire’s eternal solace, addressed his executioner: “You didn’t borrow the Kensei sword from Nakamura, I see.”
“You were never a true samurai, and I never aspired to be one.” Noah Bennet removed Adam Monroe’s head with one stroke.