2010-01-31: All You've Got (Phantasm)



Posting Date: January 31st, 2010



"All You've Got"

Previously on Heroes…

Dead. Logan is dead. His body slumps over and falls beneath the girder, falling to the ground with a clang. But another clang can be heard from the opposite end of the girder — far away from where Logan and Jessica had talked. It lingers in the darkness and had managed to stay silent until now, frowning to itself, the figure is unsure the approach to use now. And it doesn't dare move again. It knows the plan, and it can't let that happen, but to shoot Jessica would be… heart breaking.

Jessica is well on her way, walking away from the Logan; now, he's just another body like the rest of them. As she bends down to swipe the flask from the ground and take the rifle back up, casual and methodical both, she pauses. Slowly, she stands up straight and tucks the flask in the back pocket of her jeans before levelling the high-powered weapon in the direction of the noise…


New York City

She plants one foot forward, then another, slowly inching closer along the metal. Up here, a noise like that could be wind, could be the half-built building shifting, could be a bird, but she's not taking her chances. "Who's there?" she shouts; demands an answer.

The figure continues to lurk in the shadows. He's been here for some time, and wasn't following Logan; he'd been watching Jessica. Trying to find… trying to see. He frowns at the demand, but stays silent where he is, unsure of what to do. He has his semi-automatic weapons within his grasp, and he grasps one with his right hand, still unsure. Even as she shouts at him, he hesitates, but then he's gotten gutsier as of late. "Where's my mom?" Micah's own voice demands, still shrouded in shadow.

Jessica's aim fine-tunes as soon as the voice breaks the silence, but as soon as she recognizes its cadence, she starts to lower it, staring into the darkness, searching warily. She's sure of the voice, but… "Micah?" she calls back incredulously. The question goes unanswered. She stalks closer, trying to penetrate the shadows. Her rifle raises, though she doesn't fire. Could she?

Micah leans against wall, waiting. He doesn't dare move, instead he sits and lingers where he is. Still holding his own gun, he frowns. How is he supposed to stop the doom from spreading? Even with justice in mind, how could he hurt her? Finally, he chooses to respond, "Yes. Micah." He pauses and clicks the safety off his own gun. "Where's mom?"

The woman's eyes narrow, every feature hard-edged, even her surprised gape — she's unsure, a foreign and wrong expression for Jessica. She seems bothered by the boy's presence; confused by it. The wariness fades for an instant when she smirks at the sound of the safety being flicked off. He wouldn't… would he? "Sorry, kiddo. I'm all you've got."

The building — what there is of it — start to shimmer, its many shadows becoming blank spots in reality. They reform into something else entirely. Somewhere else entirely. Gone are the metal beams and mangled bodies in New York City. Instead, they're surrounded by a different sort of devastation. The dust is still settling after an explosion; white pillars and marble lay broken and burned everywhere, flickering with flames here and there. A singed American flag is crumpled on the ruins.

The White House. Micah's doing.

Jessica only folds her arms.

Sitting amongst the rubble Micah isn't happy. In fact, if anything he feels guilty; extremely guilty. With a frown he looks up at Jessica, swallowing. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do; the only thing to do. But now, sitting in front of a woman who looks strikingly like his mother, how can he defend his actions? He looks down at his hands, convinced that nothing about them will ever be clean again.

Finally, after swallowing he turns and faces the destruction he'd created, still holding his gun. "Where did mom go? Why did she leave me alone?" His eyes are heavy, his lips curl into a frown. The fourteen year old is alone, he feels alone.

Jessica is unmoving while the threat of the gun remains. Her own weapon is nowhere to be seen now; her arms stay crossed. For once, there's nothing cruel about Jessica's voice. In fact, it sounds more like its source: Niki. "She didn't."

A pile of smoking rubble shifts near Micah, parts of it falling to the floor and breaking. The tumble reveals a denim; a thigh, and then another shift of wreckage unveils blonde hair. It might be a small blessing that her face is turned away.

Of course it's impossible that Jessica could be standing here while Niki lays there as though sleeping, identical save for that fact that her shirt is white and Jessica's is black. It happens despite the laws of logic. The whole world runs this way here. Impossible, except for the reality of war and the horrible things people can do to each other… how much things can get out of hand.

"M-mom!!! I did — I didn't m… Mom…" tears begin to stream down Micah's face. He couldn't lift the rubble if he wanted. He couldn't save her if he wanted. He killed her. His fourteen year old self had killed his own mother. His mother is dead because of what he did. Angry and alone, the teen drops to his knees, tears streaming down his face, and his gun still pointing at Jessica. "I… I… she… Mom…"

Her face largely unreadable — anger's in there somewhere; some might say that's the only spectrum of emotion she's capable of — Jessica walks toward Micah. She reaches out, meaning to lay her hand on the gun, unafraid of being shot, trying, it seems, to take it away.

And in his own guilt and anger, Micah pulls the trigger.

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