Esse An Mente

Twilight: Until the Break of Dawn (Edward/Bella)

2008-05-25T20:01:11Z

Title: Until The Break Of Dawn
Author: Jane/phoenix39
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death, drama, angst, possible spoilers. This fic is my theory of what ‘Breaking Dawn’ means.
Summary: How far will Edward go to save Bella?
Word Count: 1,950
Status: Complete
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. All characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just own my overactive imagination at 3AM.
Author’s Note: I am very new to the fandom and I am only part way into New Moon, so if this fic contradicts anything that’s happened in the other books, please do not point it out to me.
Crossposted: abstract_angst, lion_lamb

It was one of those rare sunny days in Fork, Washington, my home for the past year. That meant that Edward, the love of my life, wouldn’t be seen today. He’s probably already off with Jasper and Alice hunting in the woods for grizzlies.

I hung my head and turned away from the window, knowing the kind of day ahead of me. Days without Edward are lifeless. He is my life. What I had to look forward to today: going to school, hanging out Jessica and all of them, coming home to Charlie, make dinner, do homework, and then go to bed. I hoped Edward will be here after the sun goes down.

I quickly dressed, went downstairs, and poured some Corn Flakes into a bowl when suddenly the phone rang. I picked it greeted the person with a simple “Hello?”

“Hi Bella!” Jessica said in a tired voice.

“Hey, Jess. What’s up?”

“Umm, I need a favor.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“My car died, so I need a ride to school. Would you mind picking my up?”

“No, not at all. I’ll be there in maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Great! Thank you! You’re the best, Bella!”

“It’s no problem. See you.”

I hung up the phone with a sigh. I wouldn’t have time for a real breakfast now. Jessica lives in the opposite direction that the school is in. I poured the Corn Flakes back into the box and grabbed a granola, stuffing it in my mouth in two bites.

I ran for the door, grabbing my rain coat out of habit and just in case. I arrived at Jessica’s house right on schedule. She ran out of the door and hopped into the passenger seat.

“Thanks again, Bella.”

“What are friends for?” I replied.

I turned my truck around and headed toward the school. I figured if I took the Highway, we’ll get there five minutes early and I’ll be able to grab a danish from the cafeteria.

Jessica was talking about her new boyfriend, Davie, and how she believes this is the one for her. I responded properly after the right sentences. Just then, I noticed a black mustang in my rear-view mirror. Whoever this guy was, he was a little too close. I sped up a little bit to get him off my tail, but he continued to speed up as I did.

“What is this guy doing?” Jessica asked rhetorically.

“No idea. Maybe he’s just crazy,” I responded.

I proceeded to accelerate, pushing 50 which was about as fast as my truck would allow. But the mustang continued to follow. I noticed the red light was not too far ahead and this guy would surely rear end me if I slowed at all. I pushed on my turn signal and attempted to switch lanes.

The next thing I took notice of was the sharp pain in my left side and Jessica’s screaming in my head.

***

I was alert, but not awake. I was numb, but the pain in my gut was overwhelming. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I tried to move my hands, but I paralyzed.

“She’s in a coma,” I heard a familar voice say from a few feet away.

“What are the chances of her waking up?” I heard a voice that obviously Charlie’s.

“Very slim. I’m sorry, Charlie, but we did everything we could. Even with her on life support, it’s up to Bella if she wants to wake up or not.”

Charlie didn’t respond. He probably had his face buried in his hands.

“Thank you, Doctor Cullen. Has Edward been informed?”

“I just called the house. He’s on his way.”

“And about the other girl in the truck with Bella?”

“We haven’t identified her yet. And we haven’t found the intoxicated driver yet. All we know is that he was driving a black car.”

Charlie let out a sound that seemed like he was holding back tears. He probably didn’t want to cry in front of Carlisle.

“I’ll leave you alone with her. I’ll check up on her in a bit.”

I tried to tell Charlie that everything was okay, but I couldn’t move a muscle, not even my eyelids.

I heard a chair near my bed shift under Charlie’s weight.

“Hi Bells,” he greeted, his voice distorted. “I got this call this morning. A hit and run accident. The suspect was believed to be intoxicated when he hit a red truck and fled. I should have known from that second what I was going to deal with, but I figured there were plenty of red trucks in Forks. I was the first on the scene and nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. I saw you. I saw you, Bella. You were half-dead in your seat. If you hadn’t been wearing your seatbelt, you definitely wouldn’t be on this floor. You’d be—”

In the morgue? I wondered.

“But that girl you were with. She wasn’t as lucky as you.”

Jessica? Jessica’s dead?

If I could move, if my brain could send signals, I’d be crying and curled in the fetal position right now. It was my entire fault. I should have been smarter. I should have just pulled off and taken the first turn I came up to when I saw that black mustang. I knew that car was bad news. And now Jessica was dead and here I was, knocking on Death’s door. I’ve been on the welcome mat of Death’s porch before, but ‘he’ didn’t let me in before. This time, though, I didn’t see any way of avoiding this, unless—

But why fhadn’t Carlisle done it yet? Why hasn’t he bitten me? Maybe he didn’t want to do anything until he spoke with Edward.

Edward…

“So Bella honey,” Charlie continued. “Please, wake up.”

I’m trying, Dad.

He wrapped his big, strong fingers around my slender, dainty ones and held on for several minutes without saying anything.

“Mr. Swan, sir?” I heard a voice speak. His voice. Edward’s voice.

“Edward, I’m glad you’re here,” Charlie replied. I could hear that he got off the chair and walked toward Edward, who was probably standing in the doorway.

“Edward, listen to me,” Charlie spoke. “I’m not sure how much your father has told you, but Renee is going to be here within the next three hours. And shortly after she arrives, we’re going to pull the plug.”

“My father told me, Mr. Swan, but I can’t say I agree you,” Edward replied. His voice was as broken and distorted as Charlie’s, if not more.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but as Bella’s parents, we’ve made our decision. We’re going to take her off life support, and if it is… you know, time for her…” he paused to sniff back some more tears. “We just want her to be with God instead down here on Earth, suffering.”

Wow.

I couldn’t help but be amazed. That was the first time I’ve heard Charlie speak of religion in years.

“Now is your chance,” Charlie said, “to say your final goodbyes to Bella.”

Charlie left and the door closed behind him. I heard Edward’s feet softly brush against the floor as he slowly made his way toward me. He was so close now, I could feel his breath on my face.

“Bella?” he asked in a dead whisper, barely audible. He placed his hand on my face, his cold skin soothing to the touch and began stroking my hair. “I love you, Bella. You need to wake up. Not just for me, but for Charlie’s sake. And Renee. There are too many people you can’t leave behind. We already lost one person today. We don’t want to lose you, too.”

He sniffed and his breathing was hard. Was he crying? I had never seen Edward cry and I had no idea what to imagine in my mind’s eye. Were his eyes red and puffy like humans? Can vampires even cry at all?

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I spoke to Carlisle and he said there’s just one option left. He would have done it the moment you were rushed into the ER, but he also knew how I’d feel about that. It took lots of convincing, but it’s the only way. I don’t want you to die, so I’m going to save you, Bella.”

He leaned in even closer. I felt his cheek against mine, his lips against my throat. Finally, I felt a sharp bite.

Ouch!

Then a familiar sensation started boiling my blood. But it was much worse than I remember. It was over a year since James bit me. My mind had blocked out a lot of that pain. Now it all came back to me. The inferno, starting at my neck, made its way through my body like an explosion. It spread through my head and brain. It made its way through my shoulders, chest, lungs, arms, fingertips. My whole body was engulfed in flames and, in my head, I was screaming. Shrieking in agony as the venom from Edward’s teeth infected me and started turning me into an undead being.

Once the fire had reached every inch of my body, it subsided and was replaced with ice. If I were still human, I’d shiver and chatter my teeth, but instead I found it rather soothing. The ice filled my lungs and veins.

It felt rejuvenating.

My eyes burst open and I looked over at Edward. Everything was darker than before. My senses were sharpened. I could hear a heart beating in my head, but it wasn’t my own heart. My own heart wasn’t even beating anymore. It was the heartbeat of Charlie. He was standing right outside the door. I could hear him standing. I could hear his heart beating and I could smell his blood running through his veins. I was thirsty.

I wanted so much to just get out of bed, pounce onto Charlie, and suck his bones dry of every drop of blood. Edward had clearly seen a change in me and it freaked him out.

“Bella,” Edward hissed as he pinned down on the bed. “You have got to calm down. That’s one of the reasons why I never wanted to turn you. You never had any idea how hard this is going to be. The first several humans you meet, you’re going to want to kill. But I’m going to help you. If you want, you can live with my family now. You’re one of us.”

“I don’t think Charlie will agree to that,” I whispered.

“We’ll figure something out. You won’t be able to be left alone for awhile.”

“How long is ‘awhile?’”

“Years. Maybe a hundred or so.”

A hundred years. My mind could not grasp that.

“I’m here with you,” he finished as he raised my hand and kissed it.

Charlie opened the door and came back in. His face was flooded with shock as he ran toward me and wrapped me in a tight hug.

“Oh my God, Bella,” he mumbled. “Thank God you’re okay. Thank God.”

My face was right was right up against his neck and I could smell his blood. I wanted a taste. I had to taste it. I opened my mouth and wanted to sink my teeth in.

“Bella!” Edward snapped.

I pulled away from Charlie and lied back down, closing my eyes. This was nothing like I had imagined. Edward was right. I had no idea this would be so hard.

“Bella,” Charlie said, “you have more lives than a cat.”

“I don’t have nine lives, Dad,” I replied. “Just two.”

Cold

2007-12-18T23:37:30Z

Title: Cold
Author: Jane S./phoenix39
Rating: PG.
Summary: Peter just wants to be alone with Claire during the holidays.
Word Count: 137
Warnings: None. Incest not implied. It can be canon or AU. You pick.
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Disclaimer: Believe me, I don’t own Heroes. Peter and Claire would have hooked up by now if I did.
Author’s Note: Written for the 12daysofpaire challenge. Prompt – snowfall.
Crossposted: phoenix39, esse_an_mente, heroes_fic, paire_love, heroes_peter, heroes_claire, 12daysofpaire.

Peter and Claire were staying in a cabin in the mountains for the weekend. After the weekend was over, they’ll have to go to the Petrelli mansion for Christmas.

“Tell me again why you don’t want to see your family on Christmas,” Claire asked.

“Christmas has never been a joyous event in my family,” Peter explained. “There’d be constant bickering and just very… unChristmas-like behavior. I’d rather stay in this cabin with you until New Year’s.”

Claire grinned.

“But what will we tell your family when they ask why we never showed?”

“We’ll tell them we got snowed in.”

“Won’t they ask why you didn't teleport us out?”

“I don’t think they know about the teleportation.”

“Ohh, sneaky.”

Peter responded by leaning in closer to Claire and kissing her. He was definitely looking forward to their Christmas alone.

I'll Be Home For Christmas

2007-12-17T03:34:13Z

Title: I’ll Be Home for Christmas
Author: Jane S./phoenix39
Rating: PG.
Summary: What does Superman do when the roads are closed?
Word Count: 251
Warnings: I was watching Lord of the Rings when I came up the names of their kids.
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Disclaimer: Believe me, I don’t own Heroes. Peter and Claire would have hooked up by now if I did.
Author’s Note: Written for the 12daysofpaire challenge.
Crossposted: phoenix39, esse_an_mente, heroes_fic, paire_love, heroes_peter, heroes_claire, 12daysofpaire.

Twas the night before Christmas. All through the highway, not a car was moving. Not even Peter’s. Horns were honking. People were shouting. The blizzard was worse than ever, but Highway Patrol was not letting anyone enter the city that night. Peter pounded on his steering wheel and gave out an aggravated sigh.

The Patrol Officers were making each car turn around one-by-one. At this rate, he’d never get home to Claire and the kids on time. He imagined those heartbroken looks on kids’ faces when wake up on Christmas morning and see that Daddy hasn’t returned home yet.

Peter squinted out of his windshield. Would he able to—? Would the snow be thick enough to conceal him? Will he—? With all of these people around?

He grabbed his overnight bag from the passenger side seat, turned off his car, and exited. His car will be blocking those behind him and it will definitely be towed, but he didn’t care. The other cars can drive around him and he’ll have the money to the towing fees. All that mattered was spending Christmas Eve with his family.

He walked over to the shoulder and took one last look around. No one would notice. Clutching his bag in his hand, he concentrated on floating. His feet left the ground and he entered the sky.

The snow was stinging his face and the wind was whistling in his ears. But pretty soon, he’ll be with Claire, and the twins, Elijah and Arwen.

Heroes: Kiss Me at Midnight (Peter/Claire)

2007-12-14T06:08:37Z

After a two month hiatus, my muse is back!

Title: Kiss Me at Midnight
Author: Jane S./phoenix39
Rating: PG.
Summary: It’s their first Christmas as a couple.
Word Count: 303
Warnings: FLUFF!!! Incest not implied. It can be canon or AU. You pick.
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Disclaimer: Believe me, I don’t own Heroes. Peter and Claire would have hooked up by now if I did.
Author’s Note: Written for the 12daysofpaire challenge.
Crossposted: phoenix39, esse_an_mente, heroes_fic, paire_love, heroes_peter, heroes_claire, 12daysofpaire.

It was their first Christmas as a couple. Claire and Peter had their share of hardships, but they eventually found their ‘happily ever after’ and they wanted to make every moment count.

It was Christmas Eve. Peter had placed the last present under their tree when Claire appeared over his shoulder, staring at the box.

“What’d you get me?” Claire asked.

“A pony,” Peter answered.

“But where will we put her?” Claire joked as she handed Peter a glass of eggnog.

“Those cookies smell delicious,” he said.

“Thanks. Wanna help me decorate them?” she asked.

“Sure.”

They headed down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. At the threshold, Claire stopped abruptly and Peter bumped into her back, but luckily enough, he did not spill his eggnog.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Look up,” Claire said softly.

He did so and saw why she had stopped and why she asked him into the kitchen. She had hung mistletoe from the ceiling. They shared a smile and Claire leaned in to kiss the man she loved, but Peter blocked her lips with his index finger.

“Hang on,” Peter said, his finger trembling. “There’s something I want to say.”

He placed his eggnog on the table beside him and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, black, velvet box, and got down on one knee. Claire’s jaw dropped in surprise.

Claire saw Peter’s lips move in a rehearsed monologue about their journey together and how much he loves her, but Claire didn’t him. She was so stunned.

“Will you marry me?” her ears finally opened again.

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

Peter grinned. She had never seen him so happy and she herself had never felt so happy either. Peter slid the ring onto her finger and stood up, embracing her in a passionate kiss.

Semi-Members Locked!

2007-12-06T01:46:54Z

I really did not want to do this, but with the new Flagging tool, I know that will be a shiny new toy for trolls and wankers. So fanfics rating R or NC-17 will locked for Members Only. But don't worry, joining only takes a few seconds. I DON'T make you wait by approving every member. So if you want, you can just join, read, enjoy, and then leave.

esse_an_mente @ 2007-11-29T08:23:00

2007-11-29T14:24:17Z

I claimed Sliders, general series (seasons 1-3) at scifiprompts.

Power	Regret	Ex-Lover	Birthday	Nightmare
Dark	Fight	Dance	Heartsick	Sacrifice
Dream	Red	Revenge	Destiny	Death
Temptation	Misunderstanding	Years	Birth	Snuggle
Rome	Journey	Reunion	Agendas	Children
Christmas	Drunk	Sydney	Betrayed	Paris
Magical	Acceptance	Jealous	Lost	Slutty
Sister	Fire	Vengeful	Lovers	Compassion

Heroes: Everytime We Touch -- sequel to Here Without You

2007-09-27T11:45:22Z

On popular request, here is a sequel to my story Here Without You.

Title: Everytime We Touch
Author: Jane S./phoenix39
Rating: PG-13 for incest.
Summary: Peter and Claire get a second chance at their relationship. A sequel to ‘Here Without You.’
Word Count: 1,479
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR “FOUR MONTHS LATER.”
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Disclaimer: If I owned Heroes, do you think “Distractions” would have ended like that?
Author’s Note: Written for heroes50. Prompt 21 - second.
Crossposted: phoenix39, esse_an_mente, heroes50, heroes_fic, paire_love, heroes_peter, heroes_claire.

“Your arms are my castle;
Your heart is my sky.
They wipe away tears that I cry.”

He still had no idea who he was. For all he knew, his life began the moment he opened his eyes in that shipping cargo. The men who found him cut the chain off his hand and brought him to a house. A warm house, but did not give him any warm clothes or food right away.

After days of being interrogated, they finally released him into the world. He wandered the streets of Cork, Ireland barefoot and penniless. The only clothes he had to protect him from the dusk of winter were a flannel shirt and jeans.

He asked the people on the streets for refuge, but they merely ignored him. He slept in alleyways and in dumpsters to shield himself from the harsh winds.

One evening, he was crossing, what he thought to be, a deserted street, but he found himself inches from a car. Shutting his eyes and prepping himself for the collision, all noise around him stopped. An emptiness filled the air around him. He opened his eyes to see that all of time around him has stopped. Yet another power he was capable of.

He took advantage of the opportunity and ran to the other side of the road to the bakery. He knew it was wrong to steal, but he was starving. The men who held him in the house only fed him once. He only had one meal in the past week. He was desperate.

He grabbed a bag and filled it with all the sweetest, most filling, most delicious pastries and cakes he could lay his fingers on.

After getting back to his abandoned alleyway, he shut his eyes and concentrated on time starting up again. Suddenly the deafening sounds of the world shocked his ears and went on.

He sat there, leaning against the brick wall, taking his time eating his booty.

The next morning, he wandered the city, carrying his precious bag of chow as if it were a lifeline and practicing yet another trick he discovered he had: mind reading.

I’m going to march into Rodney’s office today and tell him I quit…

I can’t believe she did this to me…

Where can I find a good florist?

Is that Peter Petrelli?

He’s having an affair. I just know it…

What’s going to happen next week on Prison Break? I bet T-Bag…

First term starts this Monday.

“Excuse me, sir,” he heard someone from behind him call out.

Whoever it was couldn’t have been acknowledging him, so he just continued.

“Excuse me!” this time, he felt the man tug on his arm.

He turned around to face an older man with a white beard and sunglasses.

“Are you Peter Petrelli?” he asked.

He shook his head.

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

“They got to you, then,” the other sighed.

“Who? Who got me? Who are you?”

He removed his glasses.

“My name is Chase Brown. I work for a man named Noah Bennet. You’ve met him, but you don’t remember him. The Company got to you.”

“What company? What is going on? And why can’t I remember anything?”

“I’ll explain everything… in a nice, warm, comfortable hotel room.”

------

After getting a shower, change of clothes, and a decent hot meal, Chase explained everything to Peter Petrelli.

“The Company specializes in finding people like you, people who are special, and turning them into weapons. The Haitian, for instance, works for them and he can wipe people’s memories. They had him clean your mind of everything from your past: your name, your family, everything.

You were in the shipping cargo because you were being sold to the Company in Italy, but there was a mix-up. You were instead sent to Ireland and the iPods that were supposed to be sent to the Irish mafia went to…”

“The Company in Italy,” Peter finished.

“You’re catching on.

As soon as we found out about the mix-up, Bennet sent me here to fetch you and bring you to him before sending you back to your family.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. So he did have a family afterall. And he was going to see meet them, finally.

“When can I see them?”

“Tomorrow. Now that I have you, we can check out of this hotel and head back for the states. First, we need to see Bennet.”

“But I don’t have any ID or a passport.”

“You do now.”

Chase reached into his pocket and pulled a fake passport and ID and handed them to Peter.

“Brooke Melman?” Peter asked.

“You can’t use your real name to travel. The Company will find us.”

------

It was around six in the evening in California when Peter and Chase stood in front of the Bennet residence.

“Let me do all the talking,” Chase demanded.

Peter nodded.

Chase knocked and within seconds, a tall man with a square jaw and horn-rimmed-glasses answered the door. He grinned when he saw his guests.

“Chase, Peter, great to see you again. Where was he?”

“Wondering the streets of Cork, Ireland, just as you thought.”

“Well, come on in. Peter, there’s someone here who will be more than thrilled to see you again.”

Peter followed Chase and Bennet into the house and was led into the living room. There he saw a woman, probably Bennet’s wife, brushing the hair of a small puppy, a teenage boy playing a handheld video game, and…

The girl from his dreams. Sandra.

“Claire,” Bennet called.

Claire pulled her eyes from the TV and looked over at her father and his two guests.

“PETER!” she shrieked and ran toward him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug. Peter did the same, holding her tightly, breathing in the scent of her hair, and feeling her heartbeat against his chest.

Claire pulled away from him, with a sudden look of anger on her face.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you contact us?” she shouted.

Peter didn’t know what to say.

“He couldn’t,” Bennet answered. “They had the Haitian wipe his memory. He doesn’t remember anything. That’s why he’s here. I’m going to run some tests on him tonight and tomorrow, he’ll be back home with his brother and mother. I’m sure they’re just as anxious to see him.”

“Did you call Nathan and Angela? Do they know he’s okay?” Claire asked.

“Not yet. I was going to do that as soon as Peter arrived to make sure. I didn’t want to give them any false hope.”

Claire nodded.

“In the meantime, Claire Bear, will you show your uncle to the guest bedroom?”

“Sure,” Claire replied.

Peter expected Chase to follow her, but when she called Peter’s name, his heart sank.

“Are you coming, Peter?”

He started walking in her wake, his heart skipping every other beat.

When they entered the guest bedroom, Peter shut the door and locked it.

“I’m your uncle?” were the first words out of his mouth.

Claire nodded, tears streaming down her face.

“We all thought you were dead. I missed you so much.”

She took a step toward Peter and wrapped her arms around his waist. Peter gently glided his thumb across her wet her cheek, wiping her tears away.

“But you’re here now,” she continued.

She moved her face closer to his, but Peter squirmed out of her grip.

“What are you doing, Claire? I’m your uncle. Right?”

“We didn’t know that when we met. You found me and saved my life. You were my hero. You still are. I fell in love with you. When I found out we were related, I thought I died a little inside.”

“Yeah. I dreamed about you night after night when I was in Ireland. Just your face, and I knew we had a connection. I thought we were lovers.”

“We still can be.”

“Are you serious?”

“Peter, listen to me. You’re a nurse, so you should know the answer to this—”

“I doubt it. I have no idea what my life was like before last week.”

“But still. Anybody will know. If you give blood or an organ to someone, does that make you related?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Exactly. Don’t you see, Peter? Relation is just an illusion.”

“So would you fuck your brother or whoever that was in the living room playing that handheld?”

“No. Not because he’s brother, but because he disgusts me. He’s got this freaky foot fungus.”

Okay, you’re right, Peter read from Claire’s mind. But I love you and, obviously, you love me, so that should be enough.

This time, Peter was the one to step toward Claire and wrap her in his arms. She stayed there with her head against his chest, listening to his heart.

“I love you, too,” Peter responded.

Heroes: Here Without You (Peter/Claire)

2007-09-25T05:28:35Z

Title: Here Without You
Author: Jane S./phoenix39
Rating: PG-13, just because.
Word Count: 973
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR “FOUR MONTHS LATER.”
Pairing: Peter/fantasy!Claire
Summary: Peter wakes up chained in a storage unit with no memory, except for a beautiful face.
Disclaimer: If I owned Heroes, do you think “Distractions” would have ended like that?
Author’s Note: Written for heroes50. Prompt 4 - search.
Crossposted: phoenix39, esse_an_mente, heroes50, heroes_fic, paire_love, heroes_peter, heroes_claire.

“I’m here without you, baby,
but you’re still on my lonely mind.
I think about you, baby,
and I dream about you all the time.”

Cold. That was all he felt. Blistering cold. He opened his eyes for the first time in life, like an infant being born. He had no memory of who he was or how he got to where he was sitting. He didn’t know anything. He tried to take in his surroundings, but it was dark. Too dark. Pitch black.

He blinked a few times in an attempt to adjust his eyes. It seemed as though he was in an empty shed. What town? What country? He didn’t know.

He tried using his hands to prop himself up to standing position, but he then realized that his arm was shackled to the wall behind him. Fear finally took over. Who brought him here? Why was it so vitally important that he remained there? And why couldn’t he remember anything?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to think. Think of anything. Try to remember. Anything.

What did I get on my tenth birthday? he asked himself. Do I have any siblings? What’s my favorite movie? How old am I?

He couldn’t answer any one of his own questions. He let out a grunt as he banged his head against the metal wall behind him.

He was so cold. He was sitting on concrete and leaning against metal. Definitely a shed, he was sitting in. And it was obviously winter.

He sighed as goosebumps sprouted on his arms. He had no shirt and no shoes. All he was wearing was pants and a necklace. He examined the necklace with apprehension. What did it mean? An ‘S’ with three lines protruding from it.

He thought he was going to freeze to death. He was going to get sick, for sure. He tried asking himself more questions to distract himself from chill.

Are my parents still alive? Is there anyone who misses me? What am I involved with that has me linked to a wall?

He blinked a few more times and started seeing shapes in the darkness. A face. A girl. She was beautiful. As she walked closer to him, she became more in focus. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and draped over her shoulder. A sad smile covered her face as she looked at him.

“You’re not real,” he mumbled to the apparition.

He blinked again and she disappeared.

He wondered who the girl was. Was she an angel? A ghost? Someone from his nonexistent past? All he knew for sure was that he and this girl shared a closeness. What that closeness was, he has no idea.

He wondered if she missed him. Maybe she was the reason why he was there. Maybe she was looking for him. Maybe she thinks he’s dead.

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He was growing weaker as time went on. He was probably in this cold prison for days. No one has come to fetch him. He longed for a warm bed, hot food, a fuzzy sweater, and the girl who filled his dreams.

He created a history of the girl. He had no idea if it was real or not, but it was something to occupy his time with. Her name was Sandra. They were high school lovers, but went to different colleges and decided to go their separate ways. Everyday while he was studying to become an engineer, he always thought of Sandra and what their life could have been. His questions were answered when they spontaneously ran into each other at the grocery store. They decided to give it another chance and this time, he did not let her go.

But he did.

He didn’t know if Sandra was still alive, or if that was even her name. Fact was, they were no longer together for one reason or another. Again, he wondered if she missed him or was happy that he was gone.

As more time passed, he grew weaker. Sandra’s apparition was the only thing that kept him going.

Loud pounding sounds woke him from his blissful sleep. It was raining. The constant beat of the rain hitting the exterior of the shed was deafening.

He sunk lower as his stomach rumbled violently. Food. He needed food. Soon. He was too weak to move.

Sandra would have taken care of him. If she were there, she’d feed him and make sure he was warm and comfortable.

He drifted off into another dream.

His eyes shot open at a pounding on the door. It was different from the rain. It was louder and heavier. Like a person.

Thank God. Someone has finally come.

He heard the door of the shed open and saw a faint light enter. It was blinding. How long as it been since he’s seen light shine?

Rescue was finally there.

Or was it?

After a couple of seconds, he realized that the men who found him were angry at something. Angry at him?

“Oy,” the leader of the small group shouted. He looked over his shoulder at the man who shouted. “Where are the iPods?”

He had no idea what was going on. Who were these men? He’s heard the word ‘iPod’ before in his past, but he couldn’t remember what it meant.

One of the men walked toward him and he extended his hand in attempt to push him away when needed, but he didn’t have to. A bright blue ball of energy emitted from his hand and hit the man in the chest.

He looked at his hand in shock. What was he? What was he fully capable of?

“Who are you?” the leader demanded.

“I don’t know,” he said sternly.

He didn’t know if these men were friends or foes, but they were his only hope of ever getting out of this shed and seeing Sandra again.

Heroes: The Plague (Peter/Claire)

2007-06-29T05:57:10Z

Title: The Plague
Author: Jane
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Character death, angst.
Ships: Peter/Claire (as uncle/neice), Molly/Micah (because they are too cute), Peter/Niki (friendship)
Summary: Ten years after season one. AU with Milo's character in the Fergie video crossed-over. There is a new kind of virus going around, but it only attacks the 'special gene,' so normal people aren't effected, but it's claimed the lives of several Heroes. Will Peter be one of the causalities before Mohinder can find the cure? Meanwhile, Claire tries to keep Peter comfortable in what might be his final days.
Word Count: 2,594 so far.
Spoilers: Up to 'How to Stop an Exploding Man'
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story is written for fun during the hiatus. No copyright infringement. Blah, blah, bladdy, blah, blah.
Author's Note: Prompt from literarylemming. Gaps are a change in viewpoint, ~*~ means a time elapse.

I read and appreciate all comments.

Original base manip made by literarylemming.

Chapter One
All of his closest friends and family members were dying around him. He may have been indestructible, but he felt as though he brought death with him everywhere he went. First his father committed suicide when he found out that his sons were going to stab in the back. Then he brother died six or seven months later, which he blamed himself for everyday. Then six years later, his mother died of cancer. Now, he was kneeling infront of the casket of one of his best friends, D. L. Hawkins, bidding D. L. his final goodbyes.

"I'll miss you, buddy," Peter whispered to the body of his dead friend.

He stood and walked out of the chapel to the downstairs break room, where there were coffee and danishes. Upon entering, he heard a couple conversations going on. Niki was standing in the corner with her mother-in-law, arguing about something.

"I know we've never really gotten along," Niki said, "but for D.L.'s sake, can we please not argue today?"

"Niki, if you just listen to me for one minute..."

"I don't want to listen to you right now. I know he was you're son, but he was my husband."

Sitting at a table on side was Micah and Molly. Molly was comforting Micah during his time of turmoil.

"The worst part's over," she whispered, placing her left hand on his, exposing a decent sized diamond on her ring finger.

I wonder which is worse, Peter accidentally read from her mind. Of all the powers he's acquired over the years, mind reading was the one he could never control, even after he learned how to control his radioactivity, which not even Ted Sprague learned to do. Having your parents suddenly murdered in front of you, giving you the shock of your life or watching your dad die over a course of several weeks, knowing that there is nothing you can do, yet giving you time to prepare for it.

"What comes next, Molly?" Micah asked.

"Healing. It may take a long time, but the pain does go away."

Peter begged to differ. But then again Micah wasn't responsible for his father's, nor was Molly responsible for her parents' deaths. But Peter knew that he and Nathan were to blame for their dad's death as was he to blame for Nathan's. He killed two people in his family and the pain never went away.

Peter walked over to the table with the coffee pots only to discovery that--

"They're empty," he murmured to himself.

"You can finish mine," Niki offered, holding her cup out to Peter.

"You sure?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm done."

"Thanks," Peter said as he graciously took the cup from her and drank down the rest of its contents.

"So," he muttered. "How are you holding up?"

"It's hard," Niki responded. "I mean, we've been married for so long, but at least he's no longer suffering. It's mostly Micah that I'm worried about. He's taking it the hardest."

"I'll bet. It's hard for a young man to lose his father."

"He really wanted D. L. to be there at the wedding."

Peter looked up and there, standing in the doorway to the break room was the one person he hadn't seen in years and missed so much.

"Claire," he gasped, shocked to see her.

Saying nothing, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Claire hadn't seen Peter in years. She lost count after four. After that night in New York City, he changed. He was no longer the empathic hero. He was a depressed pessimist. Though she couldn't exactly blame him. She tried to think of herself in Peter's place. If she had no choice but to let her brother, Lyle, die she too would lose everything that she once was, even if it was for the greater good.

She missed Peter greatly, but after that day when she tried to talk him out of the depression and he snapped at her, telling her to leave, she obliged and had no intentions of ever returning. But she still had dreams of that mysterious stranger who saved her life that night at the Homecoming game who just turned out to be her uncle.

After getting a call from Niki saying that D. L. had passed, she decided to make an appearance, hoping to bump into Peter.

She searched the parking lot, the chapel, finally moving downstairs. She peeked through the door and there, standing by table of coffee and food was the one person she wanted to see. She took a minute to notice how much he's changed. The hair that was once neck length was pulled to the back of his head in a tight ponytail. The face that was once handsomely kempt was now hidden behind at least a week's worth of stubble. And protruding above the collar of his dress shirt, were several tattoos that she couldn't quite make out the designs of. One thing was for sure: this was not the Peter Petrelli she met ten years ago in Odessa, Texas. But it was still Peter and he was her uncle, afterall. She had to at least try to make things right between them. Hoping that he missed her half as much as she missed him, she walked up to the man she once knew. Not knowing what to say, she merely extended her arms to see if he would walk into them.

He did.

~*~

Peter and Claire have really started connecting again. Being around her has made him happy again. It's the first time he's been happy in such a long time. Eight years to be exact. It was eight years since they last spoke. And everyday for the past eight years, he regretted the time he told Claire to get out of his life. He should have appreciated her while she was there. And he especially should not have snapped at her the way he did.

But he just wanted to push that out of his mind and focus on the now.

Now.

He and Claire sat in the living room of the Petrelli Mansion, which he inherited when his mother died, drinking sodas and talking about what had happened in their lives since they last saw each other.

"I was a cop for awhile," Claire informed. "It was great. I didn't have to worry about dying on the job, but it was a little hard to keep it from my partner when I was shot in front of him, coughed the bullet up, and then continued to chase the bad guy."

They shared a laugh.

"So why aren't you a cop anymore?" Peter asked.

Claire sighed.

"Worst night of my life. Once again, my partner and I were chasing a convict down the street. We threatened to shoot, but it was noon on the Saturday afternoon. There were a lot of people around, so we tried calling for backup to clear out the streets. Then I shot at him but this twelve-year-old girl got caught in the crossfire."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah. She died on the way to the hospital. So I got an honorable discharge. But I still had a passion for helping people, and I wanted to make up for my horrible, horrible mistake, so I started going to med school. Right now, I'm an intern at a hospital in Los Angeles."

"How do you like that?"

"It's great. And it hit me how lucky I am to have this power. I have seen some seriously nasty things. Last month, there was this patient with a nasty airborne virus and I was the only one who get close enough to give him the antidote."

"Wow," Peter gasped.

"I'm also a Cheerleading coach on the side."

"Now that I can see."

Claire laughed.

"So where are you staying?" Peter asked.

"Oh, this fleabag motel down on fifth street," Claire responded.

"That's a nasty one."

Claire nodded in agreement.

"Well, you're not staying there any more."

"I'm not?"

"No, you can stay here while you're in town."

"You sure? I don't want to impose on anything."

"What would you be imposing on? I'm in the mansion all by myself. I want you to stay, Claire."

"Okay. I'll stay here. Thanks, Peter."

They shared a smile. A sincerely happy smile. The last time they saw each other this happy was probably when Claire pulled the piece of glass from Peter's head. Peter wanted to be happy; he wanted Claire to be happy; he wanted to happy together.

~*~

"How much longer can you stay?" Peter asked Claire later that night.

"I have to head back by the weekend," Claire answered.

She didn't want to leave, but she had to get back to her life in California. She had a major exam on Monday, which was worth 60% of her final grade. If she passed, she'd get her medical degree and officially be a doctor.

"Too bad," Peter said. "It's been great having you around again."

"We can still keep in touch and visit each other."

"It won't the same."

"Well, I suppose--"

But Claire was interrupted when Peter went into a fit of coughing.

"Are you okay?" Claire asked.

"I'll be fine. I'm just feeling a little flu-ish."

"How does that work?" Claire asked, confused. "I mean, we're both immune to any and all physical impurities. Including illnesses."

He was hot. The air conditioner was on, but it still felt like he was baking in his own skin. The sweat and the cough. He remembered feeling like this before. The night he passed out and became comatose for two weeks.

You absorbed too many powers, he remembered Claude saying, your body doesn't know what to do with them.

He had total control over his powers (except the mind reading), but it was a hell of a lot more control he had over his powers then. So it couldn't have been that. It had to have been something else.

Or maybe his body really was simply fighting off the flu.

But Christ Almighty, the heat. He grabbed the bottom on his shirt and lifted it over his head before dropping it to the floor.

Claire looked with curiosity at his chest, neck, and arms.

"What do all your tattoos mean?" she asked.

"Lots of things," Peter answered. "All telling one long story."

"Tell me," Claire persuaded.

"Do you have four years? It's that long. It started here--" he gestured to the praying hands on his neck, "--and ended here," he pointed at a banner that said 'Stacy' underneath a cross.

The story flashed through his mind. He'll never forget it and as heartbreaking and tragic it was behind his tattoos, he never wanted to forget it. Deep within the heartache were some very beautiful moments.

Just then his thoughts were interrupted by another fit of coughs.

"Peter, are you okay?" Claire asked, his face flooded with concern, but Peter couldn't respond.

He felt a wad of phlegm build up in his throat. He hacked and hacked again. Finally, he spat the phlegm out into his palms. Then took a deep breath, thankful that his throat was finally empty. He looked down into his hands and saw the thick goop of phlegm mixed with a thin layer of blood. Then he realized what was wrong with him.

"I have the same thing D. L. had," he gasped.

Chapter Two
Claire helped Peter upstairs to his bedroom. She did everything she could think of to get his temperature down: she turned the air conditioner up all the way along with a fan blowing directly at him, and she brought him a picture of ice water. Unable to think of anything else, she ran for the phone.

Peter tried to breathe through the pain. It felt like his brain was on fire and his head was going to explode.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep through it, but the hot throbbing in his head was too distracting. He couldn't focus on anything else.

From the next room, he could hear Claire on the phone with somebody. He just wanted to muffle it out and get some sleep, but curiosity got the best of him.

"Molly, hi. It's Claire. Is Mohinder there? Thanks. . . . Mohinder! Peter's got the virus. The one D. L. had. . . . What do you mean 'calm down?' I can't! My uncle is in the other room dying! . . . Uhm, he’s got a fever, coughing bloody phlegm, and that's about it for now. I told him it could be anything, but he insists that it's D. L.'s virus. . . . Oh my God, are you serious?! And Molly and Micah, are they...? . . . Oh good. Thank God. But what should I do for now? . . . Okay. Call me as soon as you find something."

With a click of the receiver, he heard Claire walk back to his room.

“I was on the phone with Mohinder. He said that all I can do for now is keep you comfortable while he continues to find the cure.”

Peter nodded. It hurt to talk.

“Do you a thermometer?”

Peter shook his head.

“Of course not,” Claire mumbled. “Why would you? You haven’t needed one in over a decade.”

This meant she had to guess Peter’s temperature by merely feeling his face. Being a med student, she’s learned how to tell the difference in a single degree by mere touch.

She placed both hands on his forehead and moved down to his cheeks. The fever was at 104—at least. She had to cool him down. Quickly.

His head throbbed at the slightest movements of his body. While he was walking toward the bathroom, leaning on Claire for leverage, another stabbing pain zapped through his head with each step. The bathroom seemed to be a mile away from his bedroom.

The next thing he felt was the shock of ice water consuming him. A violent shiver tingled its way up his back as goosebumps cased his body. He tried to lift himself out of the tub, but Claire pushed against his shoulders to keep him in.

“Let me out,” Peter groaned in a raspy voice.

“I can’t,” Claire protested. “We have to get your fever down anyway that we can. You know as well as I do that it exceeds 105, you’ll die, and right now, it’s at 104. I hate to say this, Peter, but you are on the brink of death.”

Peter exhaled, trying to absorb this new information, while at the same time, trying to get his mind off the ice water.

“But I promise,” Claire continued, “I’m going to make sure that won’t happen.”

Milo Roles (CSI): Redeem

2007-06-23T08:20:33Z

Title: Redeem
Author: Jane
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Dark fic.
Character: Bobby Taylor
Summary: Takes place a few days after the CSI episode Milo was in. Don't read if you haven't seen the episode.
Word Count: 546
Spoilers: If you've seen the 'CSI' episode, you're fine.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: There's a random Prison Break reference. ~~The first person to find it gets a cookie.~~

Diminished Capacity: Lack of ability to comprehend the nature of a crime one has committed or to restrain oneself from committing a crime.

---------

Bobby Taylor rested his head against the cold wall of his cell at Nevada Mental Health Care Institution.

So this is what it's like on the inside of a crazy house, Bobby thought to himself.

He and his lawyer won the diminished capacity plea. So, instead of a life sentence in prison for malicious manslaughter, he got nine years in the psych ward. After he'll be released, he wouldn't be totally free. He'd have to undergo random drug tests and go to weekly counseling. Personally, he didn't care. He didn't care what happened to him. He didn't care if he was in a concrete cell at a hospital. He didn't care if he was in a concrete cell at a prison and became the bitch to a man named Avocado. He didn't even care if he had a ball and chain attached to his ankle and had to smash rocks in the scorching sun. He especially didn't care if he died.

No means of punishment could make him feel any worse than the guilt and regret bottling up within him, eating away at his insides. He felt so stupid for thinking there was such a thing as a safe high. He absentmindedly murdered his best friend. There was no punishment for that, except having to live with it.

He banged the back of his head against the concrete wall he sat infront of as he tried to hold back the tears burning behind his eyes.

"Eric," he sobbed. "I'm sorry, Eric."

You've always been there for me, Eric. Through everything. And as a thank you, I suffocate you. Great best friend, I am.

At that, Bobby recalled the day the verdict was given.

He was being led from the courthouse in handcuffs when Eric's mother incepted his path. She starred into his eyes, as if trying to read his soul, like maybe his motive for murder was written across it.

"I'm sorry," Bobby murmured. He knew a simple apology would never redeem him in a mourning mother's perspective, but he just needed to tell her that.

"You took my son from me. I will never forgive you, Robert Taylor. Never!" She burst into a fit of sobs and walked off.

After that, Bobby was escorted to the jail, where he spent the night before arriving at the mental hospital the next morning.

Eric's mom will never forgive him and he will never forgive himself.

I can't stand feeling like this.

He reached into the pocket of his white jumpsuit and pulled out the shard of glass he found in the lobby that morning after one of the other patients had a fit and threw a shoe through a window. When he saw the glass, he knew it was the only way to escape his guilt.

Holding up the glass, he exhaled as it sank in that was really going to do this.

"I'll see you in a minute, Eric," he whispered.

He brought the glass down to his wrist and broke his skin. He grimaced through the pain knowing it would be over any minute now. The crimson liquid was the last thing his eyes saw of the world before drifting off into a cold, formless haze, finally redeeming himself.

Fic table

2007-06-20T07:01:32Z

Community: smut69
Claim: Dean/Jo
Finished:

1 / 69
(1.4%)

1.	Moan	2.	Writhe	3.	Satin	4.	Lube	5.	Ring
6.	Restraints	7.	Feather	8.	Leather	9.	Massage	10.	Candle Wax
11.	Ice	12.	Oil	13.	Thrust	14.	Breast	15.	Throat
16.	Taut	17.	Supple	18.	Strained	19.	Whisper	20.	Lick
21.	Kiss	22.	Blindfold	23.	Handcuffs	24.	"Toys"	25.	Orgy
26.	Corset	27.	Scent	28.	Dominant	29.	Submissive	30.	Kinky
31.	Erection	32.	Champagne	33.	Cuddle	34.	Foreplay	35.	Intercourse
36.	Afterglow	37.	Cherries	38.	Fingers	39.	Suckle	40.	Virgins
41.	Sluts	42.	Relationships	43.	Talking Dirty	44.	Sweet Nothings	45.	Proposition
46.	Bottom	47.	Top	48.	Cunning	49.	Heart	50.	Heated
51.	Lips	52.	Role Play	53.	Threesome	54.	Self-Love	55.	Voyeur
56.	Cyber	57.	Phone Encounter	58.	Strangers	59.	Best Friends	60.	Enemies
61.	Slick	62.	Wet	63.	Deep	64.	Dirty	65.	Bad
66.	Wrong	67.	Writer's Choice	68.	Writer's Choice	69.	Writer's Choice

</div>

Prison Break: The Kiss (Miceal/Sara)

2007-06-19T08:17:50Z

Title: The Kiss
Author: Jane
Rating: PG
Pairing: Micheal/Sara
Summary: The kiss in 2x16 'Chicago' through Sara and Michael's POVs.
Word Count: 200
Spoilers: season one, 'Chicago'
Disclaimer: Not mine.

I have known from the beginning that this was wrong. I always tried to deny it, but I can’t any longer. I am in love with Michael Scofield. I smiled whenever he came in for his insulin shots, I left the door open for him and Lincoln to escape, and now I am on a train with him heading for Washington D.C. Not only that, I am making out him right now. In his arms, I feel so safe. Like nothing can happen to me. When we are together, nothing can part us. When we are together, we are one.

It was all supposed to be an act. All I planned was to be in there to get my insulin shots, figure out the best way of escaping, and flirt a little. But I started to fall in love. I didn’t want to. But when the time came to leave, it was hard to sat goodbye. When I kissed her, it was my way of saying how I felt. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t care. I regret everything bad that happened to her, but I guess if none of that stuff, we wouldn’t be kiss right now.

Fic table

2007-06-17T08:46:37Z

Community: heroes15
Claim: Molly/Micah
Finished:

0 / 15
(0.0%)

01	Past.	02	Present.	03	Future.	04	Child.	05	Love.
06	Shock.	07	Death.	08	Happiness.	09	Lust.	10	Holidays.
11	Discovery.	12	Emotions.	13	Unity.	14	Lies.	15	Blood.

Fic Meme

2007-06-17T08:16:23Z

Stole this from frellingblonde

Give me one of my own stories, and a timestamp sometime in the future after the story ended, or sometime in the past before the story started, and I'll write you at least a hundred words or so of what happened then, whether it's five minutes before the story started or ten years in the future.

Stick to the completed stories, please. So don't choose Fight for Freedom. If you choose Fantasy, please state which ending you want me to focus on. There's the default ending and the alternate ending.

Requests so far:
Five hours after 'Ignoring the Important Facts' [or the next time they hook up] - st_fred

Heroes: Scarred for Life (Peter)

2007-06-17T08:11:07Z

Title: Scarred for Life
Author: Jane
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Language and mil violence.
Chracter: Peter, implied Peter/Claire
Summary: It’s three years in the future. Matt tortures Peter for information on where the other Heroes are. My theory on how Peter gets his scar.
Word Count: 911
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author’s Note: Written for heroes50. Challenge 41 - crimson.

Peter fought against the shackles that kept him locked to the table in front of him. The interrogation room was nothing like it was the last time he was in one, after he saved the cheerleader at the Homecoming Game. This one was small and bitterly cold.

He tried to figure out a way to get out of there. He made an effort at using his telekinesis to break the handcuffs, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t working. He concentrated hard on the restraints until a stream of blood escaped his nose.

Damn it, he cursed in his head. Why aren’t my powers working?

“Hello Peter,” a familiar voice called him as the door opened. Peter immediately recognized the man as the cop who questioned him before. But the tall, black man next to him, he didn’t recognize. He continued, “long time no see, huh?”

“What do you want with me?” Peter asked, innocently.

“I know that you have a power and I’m sure you are aware of the Linderman Act, yes?”

“You mean that bogus law that people with powers must be arrested?”

“Yes, that one. But I made a deal with the President. You’re his brother, so if you cooperate, you’ll be let go. Deal?”

“What do you want me to do?” Peter asked.

“Just tell me where I can find others like you. You tell me, I let you go, and you’ll be on you’re marry way to… do whatever,” Matt offered.

“No,” Peter refused in a stern voice. “Find them yourself. I am not a traitor to my own kind.”

Matt sat at the table, across from Peter as the Haitian stood silently in the corner, watching the scene like a hawk. Matt pulled out a file and slapped it on the table in front of Peter then sifted through the various pages and photographs.

“Niki Sanders, Hiro Naukamera, Claire Bennet--” Matt noticed the fear and concern that entered Peter’s face at the mention of Claire’s name. “Claire Bennet. Let’s start with her.”

Peter shook his head vigorously.

“She’s the cheerleader you saved three years ago today. How did you know she was in trouble?”

“Psychic intuition,” Peter lied, not wanting to rat out Hiro. “I guess you can say all us with powers are connected. I was able to sense it.”

“You’re a liar,” Matt shouted.

“How do you know?”

“If you don’t play nice,” Matt threatened as he pulled a knife out from an ankle pouch and placed it on the table, “neither will I. Now tell me where I can find Claire Bennet!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Peter shouted. “I haven’t seen her in years!”

Peter tried another failed attempt to release himself from the shackles, which only resulted in more blood dripping from his nose. He grunted and decided to sit still, knowing that there was no escape.

“Are you done yet?” Matt asked, referring to Peter’s little tantrum.

Peter didn’t answer. He just turned his head and looked in the other direction.

Matt took Claire’s picture out of the file and held it in his hand.

“Claire sure is pretty,” he said in a wicked voice, “and she’s a cheerleader, so she’s probably very flexible. In high school, I was one of the guys that had a thing for the cheerleaders and pommers. What about you? Did you go for the cheerleaders or softball players? If I ever meet Claire, I’d like to--”

“SHUT UP! DON’T TALK ABOUT HER THAT WAY!”

Peter knew that Matt wanted to set him off, but he couldn’t stand hearing his words for another second. It pained him to imagine anyone hurting Claire in any way. He shut his eyes, but wished he could also shut his ears. He just wanted to grab that knife on the table and take Matt out.

Why the hell aren’t my powers working?! Peter’s mind screamed.

“TELL ME WHERE CLAIRE IS!” Matt shouted in a deep voice that almost wasn’t his.

Peter bit down on his lip, refusing to respond.

“That’s it,” Matt mumbled, clutching the knife and striking it down across Peter’s face.

Peter screamed as the pain registered in his mind. He focused all of his energy on healing, but his powers were still turned off. He kept his eyes shut to keep the blood out of them and brainstormed as to what can block his powers like this, but the pain was too distracting to think clearly.

Suddenly, his head jerked sideways as Matt’s fist contacted with his temple.

“Listen here you little bastard,” Matt grunted through clenched teeth, grabbing Peter’s collar. “Tell me where the others are or I will leave you here in this room to die.”

“Kill me. I don’t care,” Peter begged, knowing that if he dies, the pain will stop.

“Fine.” Matt turned around and left the room, leaving Peter to die as he promised.

Hours past before Peter opened his eyes and realized that the Haitian was still there, staring him down.

“What?” Peter groaned.

The Haitian said nothing. He didn’t even blink.

Peter started to wonder how long he’s been out of consciousness and how much blood he’s lost. That’s when he noted that the bleeding had stopped and the skin across his face felt tighter.

Without saying anything, the Haitian turned and left the room. At that, the gash on Peter’s face finished healing within seconds, but because of the amount of time it took to repair, he was forever marked.

Sliders: Fight for Freedom (Rembrandt)

2007-06-17T07:59:21Z

Title: Fight For Freedom
Author: Jane
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Rembrandt, some implied Rembrandt/Wade
Summary: The group slides into a world where the South won the Civil War and slavery is still going on. With Rembrandt being African American and with no documentation of his freedom, they must pretend that he's their slave until they slide again. But it's easier said than done. Many problems arise, which could result in Rembrandt at the end of a rope.
Word Count: 327 so far
Warnings: Mature theme, racism
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sliders or its characters. Plotline for this fic belongs to my mother. Original characters belong to me.
Author’s Note: I will only continue this story if I get replies.

PROLOGUE

The four friends hit the ground with individual thuds. They all agreed that the one thing they hated most about sliding was the rough landings. During this particular slide, Wade landed on her ankle and twisted it, and Rembrandt landed on his ass right on a pointy pinecone.

“Wade, are you okay?” Quinn asked her, extending his hand to help her up.

“I’ll be fine as I long as I don’t put a lot of weight on it,” she replied as she grasped Quinn’s hand and hoisted herself up, keeping all of her weight on her right foot. To gain more leverage, she leaned again Quinn’s shoulder.

“How long until we slide, Mr. Mallory?” Professor Arturo asked, dusting his slacks off.

“Six days, two hours, eleven minutes,” Quinn answered, checking the timer.

“I wonder where we are,” Rembrandt asked rubbing the area of his bottom where the pinecone stuck him.

The group looked around at their surroundings. They were in an alleyway between two brick buildings. Walking out onto the sidewalk, they saw that they were on a crowded sidewalk. People walked about, minding their own business. Everything looked normal: some people were dressed nicely for work while others were dressed more ragged for leisure, cars drove by, a policeman ordered a hotdog from a sidewalk vendor.

“Everything seems to be normal,” Quinn said. He hoped they were finally home, but has learned by now not to get his hopes too high.

As they walked on, Wade leaning Quinn to maintain balance, people started to give them strange looks and even scoffed and hissed in their direction.

“You guys notice,” Rembrandt asked, “that nobody seems to like me here?”

He’s right, Quinn realized. They're not hissing at us, they’re hissing at him.

“I guess my double here isn’t too popular.”

“Let’s just find the Dominion, please,” Wade said, “so we can check in. I have got to rest my ankle.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

I won't update unless I get replies.

Heroes: Happy Birthday (Peter/Claire)

2007-06-17T07:52:55Z

Title: Happy Birthday
Author: Jane S. (phoenix39)
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Summary: Peter surprises Claire with a birthday picnic on the beach.
Word Count: 539
Disclaimer: I assure you, if I owned Heroes, “Distractions” would have ended differently.
Rating/Warnings: PG. So much fluff, you’ll puke. And maybe a little corny, but too cute not to pass up.
Author’s Note: Written for heroes50. Challenge 1 - wish.

“Happy birthday, Claire,” Peter whispered into his girlfriend’s ear as he lifted his palms off her eyes.

Claire let in a small gasp at what she saw: a large blanket stretched upon the sand of the beach, all her favorite foods spread across the blanket, including a small vase of white flowers. Everything illuminated brightly under the second night of the full moon.

“Oh my god,” Claire mumbled before sitting on the edge of the blanket.

Peter sat across from her. The only thing between them was the huge feast Peter has prepared for her: salad, fried chicken, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, red wine, and a small Tupperware container that she imagined held dessert in.

“Peter, this looks wonderful,” Claire exclaimed.

“Only the best for my girl,” he replied.

“Awwe, come here,” she demanded. He leaned toward her and they shared a quick kiss on the lips.

“Dig in,” Peter told her with a huge smile on his face.

So she did, starting with the salad. When they were done with that, they moved on to the fried chicken.

“Such a gorgeous night,” Claire commented. The Texas weather was always amazing this time of year. The night was warm with just the right amount of breeze.

“Enjoying the food?” Peter asked.

Claire answered with an orgasmic moan between chicken bites.

“Glad you do,” Peter replied.

“You know, I’m curious about these flowers. They’re beautiful. What are they?”

“They’re white camellias. I forgot where I heard it from, but white camellias stand for pure loveliness.”

Claire couldn’t say anything. She merely smiled and blushed.

They continued have a perfectly romantic dinner, enjoying the food and talked about everything under the sun until there was nothing else to talk about.

Peter glanced down at his watch.

“It’s midnight. Happy birthday, Claire!”

Claire squealed excitedly.

She had a broad grin plastered across her face while Peter opened up the Tupperware container and pulled out a small cupcake with chocolate frosting and the number 21 written on top of it in white frosting. He was hunched over the cupcake as he stuck it with a single birthday candle and lit it.

“Make a wish,” he said as he held it up to her in his palm.

She closed her eyes in thought and blew out the candle. She smiled as she grabbed the cupcake from Peter and peeled the paper off from around it.

She munched on it as Peter uncorked the wine and poured it into two glasses.

“A toast,” he said as held out his glass, “to love. You can find it in the most unexpected places. Like a painting. When I saw this high school cheerleader in a painting, I had no idea I’d fall in love with her, but I did. And I believe there was a higher power out there that wanted us together. I love you so much, Claire.”

“I love you too, Peter, more than anything.”

“Claire, I have something to ask you,” he put his glass down, got on his knees, and fished something out of his pocket. A small velvet box. Claire’s eyes grew to the size of grapefruits.

“Will you marry me?”

Claire nodded.

“That’s what I wished for,” she whispered.

Fic table

2007-06-17T00:09:10Z

Community: heroes50
Claim: Peter/Claire
Finished:

5 / 50
(10.0%)

01	Wish.	02	Need.	03	Dream.	04	Search.	05	Destroy.
06	Fly.	07	Swim.	08	Freeze.	09	Jump.	10	Run.
11	Mother.	12	Father.	13	Brother.	14	Sister.	15	Child.
16	Love.	17	Hate.	18	Sex.	19	Apathy.	20	Work.
21	Second.	22	Minute.	23	Hour.	24	Day.	25	Year.
26	Birth.	27	Life.	28	Death.	29	Heaven.	30	Hell.
31	Earth.	32	Air.	33	Fire.	34	Water.	35	Spirit.
36	Rain.	37	Snow.	38	Wind.	39	Sun.	40	Moon.
41	Crimson.	42	Mask.	43	Breath.	44	Sacrifice.	45	Devour.
46	Writer's Choice.	47	Writer's Choice.	48	Writer's Choice.	49	Writer's Choice.	50	Writer's Choice.

Welcome!

2007-06-16T23:50:08Z

About the Comm

Welcome to my fanfic journal, Esse An Mente. Esse An Mente is Elvish for Beginning And End, which are the two most important parts of a story, experts say. Obviously, this is where I am going to post all of my fanfic from on. Most of what I write is angst or smut, but lately I've been trying to expand my horizons and write more fluff, action, and even comedy/crack.

This journal mostly contains smut, incest, and angst. If this is not your cup of tea, then don't read. That simple.

About Me

My name is Jane. I have always loved to get caught up in stories. I started reading at a late age, but once I started, I couldn't stop. Since I could remember, even before I learned how to read or write, I loved creating stories. I loved to tell ghost stories with my friends and create fantasy worlds with crime fighting princesses and talking pet lions.

In recent years, I have been practicing my writing with the great people on the Internet with fanfiction. I'm working on several original stories, which I hope to get published one day.