Title: Dilemma (1/2)
Characters: Adam Monroe/Bela Talbot
7_crossovers Prompt: 7. Delicate
fic_variations Prompt: Resurrection (#1)
Content Warning: Spoilers for 211: Powerless (Heroes), character death.
Summary: Adam ponders what exactly he should do.
Author's Note: There will be a second part to this -- I know it ends kind of on an awkward note, but there will be another half from Bela's POV once amnesty month rolls around (or I may even write it before hand and just post it to fic_variations later. I dunno.)
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Heroes or Supernautral. They're owned by NBC and the CW. However, any and all original characters are mine, so please do not use them without my permission.
She was going to hate him for this.
He was holding on to the slight hope that this would be what she wanted, but from what he had witnessed with her and those she considered her associates, he knew that bringing people back from the dead was not a favored topic of conversation, but their means were not the same as his. His didn’t have any—side effects. There were no deals to be made, no souls to be wagered. All he had to do was inject his blood into her body, and she would come back to him—to the rest of the world for that matter. While some people may not be too thrilled in the end with that proposition, he couldn’t think of a better use of his particular genetic quirk than to save those he cares about.
And yes, despite everything they had put each other through, and all the time she had killed him over their brief relationship, he found himself caring for Bela Talbot.
Don’t ask him to explain how, or why. He’s not even sure of those matters himself, but for some reason, he thinks that the world would be far less interesting without her. His world, would be far less interesting, anyway. Should his plan have actually followed through, Bela would have been one of the ones saved. Again, that deal was made on a business arrangement, but there had to be something there that indicated that there was more to their relationship than what she had done for him in Tokyo, and every time he had either thwarted her, or she had managed to kill him since. It was a delicate relationship—extremely delicate—and it must have been the masochist in him that called to her, because there was no other explanation for why he had developed some kind of twisted form of affection for a woman that shot him through the heart on a regular basis.
She was complicated and messy, but in many respects so was he, so maybe that was why they fit so well together. Whether or not that was the truth was still up in the air, but that was the reason he was choosing to believe for the moment. He especially wanted to believe that she wasn’t going to run away from him, or hate him for bringing her back, but really—he wasn’t going to let her die at the hands of that psychopath. Not when he had the power to change it.
On the other hand—he really could do without getting shot at every time they encountered each other.
Then again, if he saved her life, maybe she might feel a small bit of gratitude towards him and not shoot him every time they saw each other. Plus, she would have to lay low for a while, and that would take some time—so she could stay with him. They could be companions, of sorts—her with her knowledge of the supernatural and business expertise, and him with his vision of a future he was hoping to see. They could become quite the team, him and Bela. It would be a fantastic partnership. If he could only convince her that he wasn’t the enemy, and that they really could become fantastic friends.
His hand rolled the syringe around in his fingers, playing through the “what if” scenarios in his head. His eyes kept moving from the syringe, to the body sprawled across the bed, long brown hair fallen across her face, and a large bloody hole in her stomach. He didn’t like seeing her helpless like that, not Bela. Any other person and he probably wouldn’t have cared, but Bela was defiant, strong. She wasn’t the broken girl that was laying in front of her now, and he couldn’t help but listen to the voice in his head that was echoing that she needed to die with more dignity than that. While true, there was very little dignity in that—death was always messy. But she needed to have more than this life. She needed more than a bullet to the gut because some client didn’t get what he wanted. She didn’t deserve this, and this was the only way he knew of making sure she got what she did.
He got up from the chair he was sitting in, and moved to sit down on the bed next to the body. Dead bodies had ceased to bother him ages ago, although he was sure that some might find it slightly morbid that he had been sitting with one for a few hours now. Nevertheless, he sat there next to her, moving his hand to her face to brush the hair out of the way, and just looked at her for a moment, wondering if this really was something he wanted to disturb. He moved from her eyes down to the trace of her lips and the curve of her neck. There was just something about this woman that got to him, and he knew that he couldn’t just let that go easily. Not like he had before.
He ran his thumb over her cheek bone lightly, before giving a murmured, “I’m sorry,” and reaching for the syringe again. He injected himself with it slowly, before turning and injecting it into the limp arm next to his, pushing his blood into her blood stream, and hoping to God that there was still enough residual blood flow in order to get the healing medicine to where it needed to go.
The effect was almost instantaneous. The wound itself healed, first, before color started to return to her skin, and her eyes went from a dull, glazed over look to having a spark of life behind them again. Her first breath came on a deep inhale, and suddenly she was coughing, her body doubling forward and her arms lashing out for the nearest thing she could grab. He let that be him, taking her hand in his, and supporting her while her body readjusted to learning how to breathe again, and when her eyes finally regained focus again, she turned to face him with confused eyes, and tilted her head to the side slightly.
He nodded slowly, continuing to help her sit up as she let go of his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“What did you do?”
“What did you do?” The look in her eyes was one of fear more than anything else. As though she was running through all the possible scenarios in her head, and she probably was—a shock like this doesn’t exactly promote the most stable frames of mind.
“I brought you back,” he said quietly. She watched him for a minute, her face contracting into a look of confusion as she tried to process what he was telling her, and finding that there was very little chance of their being an end to the tunnel that she was looking for. Instead, she only pulled away from him more, pushing herself back towards the edge of her bed and shaking her head.