damned_institute | Day 30: Cafeteria, Breakfast

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Day 30: Cafeteria, Breakfast

Hitsugaya woke with a start.

His entire body ached, but the pain was nowhere near as bad as it had been the night before. His injuries had been tended two with clean gauze and bandages, and he found every movement wasn't agony. He wasn't in the best of shape, but thanks to the miracle of landel's strange time distortion, he had mostly recovered from the vile poison without having to waste anyone else's talents.

And in his hand, still...there was the key.

He dressed quickly, sliding the key onto the key ring from his desk drawer and stuck it into his pocket. Whether the key stood to gain them anything or not, it stood as a vital reminder that they could succeed in this place. There was hope, as insignificant as it often seemed. They could beat this place.

That small shred of hope made getting up worth it.

The nurse who escorted him to breakfast was cheerful, and commented idly about how wonderful it was to see young Tommy Winters up and about again after his unfortunate run-in with a bad case of food poisoning. He smirked slightly, knowing that any lies the institute forced into their heads were only that: lies. He wouldn't buy it for a second. And on top of that, the concept of muffins sounded almost appetizing. While he still preferred his authentic Japanese cuisine, the food here was slowly becoming more and more bearable. He would have preferred a warm bowl of sweet nattou over rice over the mufffins, but they would do. The plain yogurt and fruit, on the other hand, was excellent. He piled his plate high with fruit as usual, and got several small bowls of yogurt as well.

Finding the most convenient table to the end of the food line, he took a seat and scanned for the new arrivals. New arrivals meant people who would be lost and confused. Renji did a good job of making a bulliten post last time...he should recommend abarai-fukutaicho do the same again this time.

[Waiting for Angel]

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Nathan remembered standing next to Marcus, conversing with Stefan... He remembered nearly having his ankle torn to shreds by vicious monsters that he'd written off as the testament to some nutjob's lunacy. He remembered it all so clearly, and his tender, miraculously bandaged ankle was proof that it hadn't all been in his head, he hoped. So, it was with great surprise, that he found himself in bed, awaking from a "good" night's sleep as that same, cheerful nurse from before popped her head in to escort him to breakfast. He'd been confused, wary, but he hadn't put up a fight. Hopefully, he'd be able to track down Marcus or Sanji or even Stefan to confirm any of what had happened last night, but as things stood, he was in too much of a confounded daze to even look for them as he stood mechanically in line to pick up some muffins and juice.

After that was said and done, Nathan turned to the crowded cafeteria, noting the number of injured and weary patients taking in their meals slowly, like this was all part of some routine they'd resigned themselves to.

And then he saw her. It happened just like that. His eyes just happened to fall on her, like some kind of sick twist of fate or something that he was sure he'd heard his mother or Linderman reference a long time ago. A long time ago when he'd been a different man. Were it anywhere else, had he not seen what he'd seen, Nathan Petrelli would've walked the other way. What good was he to her, to anyone? He couldn't be what she wanted him to be for her; he'd never been able to be that. She'd been better off without him, and he'd been willing to push her as far away as he needed to in order to make her see that he wasn't, and never could be, a father to her.

But here she was, sitting here in this hellhole eating her breakfast like everyone else. How long had she been here? Compelled by something he could hardly pinpoint himself, Nathan limped his way over to her, silently taking a seat across from her. It took a while for him to look up from his food, to actually look her in the eye, and even longer to form words.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, his voice hoarse, as neutral as he could make it. Even just sitting here with her reminded him of everything. How he'd failed her, how he'd failed Peter. The former congressman closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing all of that down where he always forced things he didn't want to face. "I didn't think I'd see you..."

Here. Again, if she'd been lucky. Either option worked.

Claire didn't mind anyone new sitting near her, although she was slightly concerned that the man was limping and for a long while, he didn't say anything at all. Then he stared at her for a little, which was creepy. She was about to force polite conversation when the man finally spoke up.

His first question was typical - it was natural for newcomers to ask that, but his second statement left Claire confused. What did that mean?

"I guess...couple of weeks or so?" Claire tried to count in her head, but time always seemed odd here and she didn't care much to check the date anymore.

She left herself trail off, a little uncomfortable. He was looking at her like he knew her somehow, when she'd never met this man before in her life. Clearing her throat, she tried to engage him again. "I'm Claire," she said. "You must be new here, I haven't seen you around before."

"You don't remember me?" As much as it probably should've relieved him, the notion caused a strange kind of sick feeling to well up in his stomach. He would've expected something else; even the promise of a fresh start, a fresh start where he didn't hide her away like she didn't exist or maybe an attempt to actually be something like a father to her would've been more plausible than the dull ache he felt. It was like a slap, but then he imagined the way he'd treated her has felt similar over the past, couple of months.

No, there was no way she could've forgotten it all. Even after spend a couple of weeks here, there wasn't a chance in hell she would've forgotten, which left the only other option lingering heavily in the air. Not only had he brushed her off, pushed her away; he also hadn't been able to save her hero when he'd probably been her only hope in that moment. Nathan almost winced but chose instead to stare down at his breakfast again.

"I get it. I'm probably the last person you want to see right now." He forced the words as evenly as he could. It didn't matter if she didn't want to see him; she was here, and no matter what kind of asshole he'd been or still was, he wasn't about to just pretend she wasn't. It was kind of his place to take care of her or at least look after her from a distance. All the self-loathing and misery in the world wasn't enough to make him leave his daughter to fend for herself in an institute full of monsters and psychopaths. It was just somehow really hard to find the words to say that to her.

Claire blinked a few times, trying to get a grip on the situation. This man looked...hurt that she didn't recognize him, and she couldn't figure out why. His reaction almost made her feel guilty, and she struggled for a moment for the right words to say to him.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't know you," Claire said. A part of her wanted to ask if he'd just mixed her up with someone else, but that seemed insulting and she didn't want to upset him further. At a loss for anything else to offer but an apology, Claire waited for this man to at least introduce himself to her, or explain how he knew who she was.

It could've just been a teenager's attempt to show him just how furious she was with him, or just how much she hated him. Still, there was something about the way she said it that seemed so genuine. Claire really didn't remember. What the hell had they done to her?

Mildly relieved and then all the more troubled for an entirely different reason, Nathan sighed, ignoring his muffins for the moment as he searched for the right way to come out and say it. Part of him wondered if this wouldn't be for the best. Maybe he should just introduce himself as Peter Petrelli's brother and be done with it. He'd save her a lot of grief that she probably didn't need right now or ever. Nathan looked back at her, keeping his expression neutral.

"I guess you really wouldn't. I'm Nathan, Peter Petrelli's brother." And there was the real test, whether or not she remembered Peter. It had to be said, much as saying it out loud stirred the lingering presence of the man in the mirror. "Sorry to just come up to you like that."

All confusion thrown out the window, Claire perked up at mention of her hero's name. "Peter? You're his brother? Is he okay? I wanted to go back, but my father insisted the police handle it. Have they let him go? They know it wasn't his fault, right?"

All her questions came out in one big rush, and she wanted them all answered at once. So concerned for Peter's safety she pushed aside the fact that this still didn't explain why Nathan thought she knew him.

And now he'd talked himself into a corner. She certainly seemed to remember Peter, but the whole ordeal in New York, almost having to put a bullet between his brother's eyes... None of that seemed to come up with the mention of that name when it very well should have.

So now he'd have to tell her. There wasn't any way around it. How easy it would've been to just say that Peter was fine, that everything was great and perfect and not so messed up. Nathan's eyes glazed over with a sadness that seemed ever-present nowadays.

"Pete's gone, Claire," he forced, interjecting the words before she'd even finished. He hadn't meant to put it out there like that, so blunt and harsh, but that's how the whole situation was. Peter was gone. There weren't any pretty words or easy let-downs. He owed her the hones truth for once.

"Gone?" Claire repeated, clearly not understanding at first. "What do you mean, 'gone'?"

She searched Nathan's eyes for some hope that it was anything other than what she thought, but it was all clearly written on his face. Claire slumped in her seat a bit, on the verge of tears.

"How did this happen?" she asked, her voice sounding a lot smaller than she would have liked. "He was like me..."

He shouldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead.

Nathan felt the guilt before he saw the tears welling up in her eyes. It had just come out like that, the cold, hard truth. It seemed like he couldn't do anything else for her unless it involved hurting her somehow. He ran a hand through his comparatively wild, messy hair, unsure of just how he was supposed to handle things now. He was a politician, and before that? A lawyer. How could he possibly be unable to find any words at all to comfort her, to make it less hard then it was.

"I'm sorry," Nathan finally offered lamely, clearly agitated, though it was more with himself than her. This wasn't her fault. None of it was. He looked up at her and then away again, a heavy sigh replacing tears that he couldn't share with her.

"He was like me too."

Claire bit her lower lip and stared into her cereal, trying very hard not to fall apart. Despite her efforts, she still felt tears starting to slip down, and was vaguely aware that her shoulders were shaking.

Why? Peter was so strong, so brave to have saved her...what could have killed him?

All questions got stuck in her throat and she continued to cry pitifully at a complete stranger.

Wesker had been in quite a good mood this morning, after having confirmed that the virus remained in his blood. The fact that Birkin had his as well was both pleasing and troubling. The G-virus was unpredictable after all.

However, the good mood vanished when he noticed a strange man talking to Claire. Whatever he said seemed to have upset her quite a bit, and Wesker immediately changed his path to head towards Claire rather than to sit at a table.

"Claire."

He would not tolerate anyone attempting to manipulate or harm his 'daughter'.

Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose, not sure exactly what he was supposed to do in this situation. She didn't remember him, had no idea who he was or why he'd come to talk to her. He briefly contemplated limping around the table to give her an awkward hug; who knew? Maybe it would be good for both of them.

But then the approach of someone else, a stranger, changed all of that. Who the hell did this guy think he was, barging in on a private conversation without even so much as an 'excuse me?' Nathan shot an irritated glance at the newcomer.

"Hey, do you mind, pal?"

Claire sniffed and looked up at Wesker, thankful for his timely approach.

"I'm fine," she said unconvincingly, trying her best to calm herself. If only there weren't so many eyes on her, she'd feel better.

Desperately trying to wipe her tears away, she tried to form some kind of explanation for her tears...but a new lump formed in her throat, and in the end she wasn't able to say a thing.

"Yes, I do mind," Wesker glared at Nathan from behind his sunglasses, placing a hand on Claire's shoulder. Possessively, protectively. After all, the two were quite hard to distinguish from one another.

"Don't worry, Claire. I can take care of this," This man had picked the wrong girl to pick on. Wesker didn't recognize him, and they had just had new patients brought in.

He would have to keep an eye on this one.

Nathan stood up, probably not seeming all that threatening but making an effort nonetheless. It was actually a welcome distraction from the pity party they'd been having just a second ago. Anything to forget, and anger? Anger was good at making you forget.

He wasn't about to throw a punch yet or get in the guy's face; anyone with half their senses could tell he wasn't any kind of fighter, but there was something there, territory that this random stranger was encroaching on.

"Get your hands off my daughter," he challenged the other, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. It was quite clear that he didn't realize exactly what he was saying.

Claire choked on a sob, staring wide eyed at Nathan before turning her gaze to Wesker, and then back to Nathan.

"What?" she asked.

This wasn't right. True, they'd never exactly taken a DNA test, but she'd just grown accustomed to having Wesker as her father while he was trapped in this place.

How could this man be her father? Is that why Peter had come for her that night? Claire's gaze rested on Nathan, waiting for some kind of answer.

This man was... well. It was entirely possible, there was a very low probability that Wesker had actually fathered Claire. It was also unlikely she was even from his 'reality' if that theory was to be accepted as true.

Wesker glared at the man as he tried to look threatening. "I am not going to hit you, but I have been putting up with far too much hell in this place to tolerate this for long. Either explain yourself immediately or get out of my sight."

Thankfully, he wasn't wearing his coat this morning, and the strong, well-defined muscles of his arms were visible. The scrubs were too loose to provide much definition on his chest, but it was quite obvious that Wesker was in much better physical condition.

"Because you are not her father."

With that said, he moved to stand protectively in front of Claire and keep this new threat away from her. Even if this guy did have some power, Wesker was not concerned. He had taken on much tougher opponents, he was sure.

Nathan's brave face didn't falter, but inwardly his core shook at Claire's understandably confused response. His mind raced, tackled every question from how he'd gotten so careless with his words to why this stranger was being so protective of Claire. Of course, he had no real answer for the first one, but the guy, on first glance, certainly couldn't passed for a fine employee of the Company. Sure, he was dressed in the same, silly get-up as the rest of them, but he could have easily been planted amongst them to stir things up. Nathan's eyes narrowed further.

"I don't see how any of this is your business," Nathan replied sharply. "This is between Claire and I, so it would be greatly appreciated if you would give us some space."

I've got a lot of explaining to do.

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Day 30: Cafeteria, Breakfast

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