Big Girls Don't Cry, They Get Even


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Scene Title Big Girls Don't Cry, They Get Even
Synopsis Molly's sweet sixteen gets interrupted with unexpected appearances.
Date November 17, 2012

Manhattan, Near Pinehearst Tower

There have been plenty of occasions where Molly and Luther have encountered each other ever since he started showing up around Pinehearst Tower. In the sense that she’s been on her way in or on her way out and spotted the tall man in a Pinehearst logo polo shirt and jeans pushing a floor polisher around, or replacing a freshly watered potted plant in its place, or wiping down a countertop. And rarer still, she’s seen him walking in or walking out in a dark suit with crisp, tailored lines. For a janitor, he’s a man who cares about appearances. He’s always been a polite source of hellos and goodbyes, if she were to address him, but he hasn’t been overly invested in associating with the teen.

That could be because she’s known within Pinehearst as a budding young woman of particular interest to the higher ups, and protected as such. Her unusual, tragic backstory, the stuff of rumors and tales told in the dark. Or exploitable dramatized television. Either way, they couldn’t say they know each other.

But she’s off to class the first time she passes by the tall janitor man, and there’s no thoughts to be spared for his otherwise unassuming demeanor during the encounter. Because today, Molly is sixteen.

There’s a lot to do for a birthday, especially the supposed “sweet” sixteen.

And her day progresses normally as one might for a teenager on the cusp of the march to young adulthood. And responsibilities. It’s been a day of it, and sooner rather than later, she’s going to have to end it the same way it began, heading home instead of leaving it.

Along the way home, on the sidewalk where she’s walking, her phone chimes with a text alert that comes from an unknown phone number. But the text reads a pleasant message: Happy Birthday, Molly.

She's a real big girl goddamnit. And she felt like it. All the big girl emotions. Currently her face was a mask of.. nothing. Daddy Matt was gonna be busy tonight and they would celebrate all together on the weekend. But her Mama Kay probably had something planned. That wasn't something she wanted to cheat and spy on Kay to learn so she hoped as she walks steadfast eyes forward, she has places to be ya know. Big girl places.

Blue eyes go upward right before the text comes in and the teen is looking down at her phone with a soft smile though she doesn't know the number. Maybe one of her friends changed their number. «Thanks! Whose this? Srry! My phone doesn't have u locked in!»

Shoving the phone back into the pockets of her dark denim jeans a hand goes to her backpack straps and she clutches onto them tight, a nervous tic.

The text alerts come after her reply:

«I bet you are smart enough.»

It would be a playful text conversation were it not for the next one that follows on the heels.

«You are beautiful, Molly. I hope you know that.»

Along with the text is a picture of her from earlier in the day, taken some time in the bright daylight where the sun is shining on the strands of hair that wisp out from her face in 3/4 profile. Whoever the texter is, they’d been around as she went about her day.


Excuse me what?

This was not Simon Samuel’s number and that was the only guy who was gonna be texting her stuff like she's beautiful (Ty Simon ty).

Before she can start her furious reply she's stopped by the photo of herself and she rears back from the phone as if it's a snake wanting to bite her. “Ah ah ah shit!” Molly blinks as her blue eyes widen and she steps backwards towards the building. «Who is this?»

«Hopefully, a friend.»

The reply is short, but followed with a more audible one. “Hello, Molly.”

A relatively young man’s voice, registering a softspoken, airy tenor, greets her from the left just down the street. In way of her path home. He’s dressed as normally as anybody on the street so it’s not a surprise she wouldn’t have noticed in his brown graphic tee, a dark jacket and jeans. He can’t be more than mid-late twenties from the look of him, lean bodied, fresh faced with a dusting of a mustache and goatee, shy, soulful eyes. Harmless. He smiles toothlessly, the corners of his mouth twisting up.

And he takes a step forward towards her. “I’m, uh, I’m Glen.”

Stopping in her tracks, Molly backs up a step. Taking in the man, his lean body doesn't entice her as much as it gives her a warning, he's able bodied and he's stalking her. Old fears of the Boogeyman Sylar cloud her mind as she feels the effect making her dizzy. Stumbling back, she puts a hand up and glares.


Most people don't carry weapons in the city, why would they need to? And most teenagers don't walk around with pepper spray and knives cuz.. benevolence and such. Molly had things to fear, people to fear and that's when Molly swiftly turns and runs the opposite direction. Hand digging in her backpack trying to reach for the spray.

Glen spreads his hands out to show he’s unarmed, though it might not mean much to Molly with the memories she has of the Boogeyman. He was unarmed too, after all. It’s her own stranger danger sense projecting on to him, no doubt, but he’s not making it any better when she turns to run and he gives chase. “Wait, Molly! Please!”

Her hands close around the spray in her bag right around the moment she sees another person on the street. A tall, broad figure in a suit stepping out of shadow from a nearby alley between buildings, a man she recognizes in her vague, fear-filled thoughts. Luther narrows his grey-eyed gaze, looking past the fleeing girl and…

“I just wanted to tal—urrrk!”

It’s not likely anybody catches Glen as the young man suddenly spasms in his steps like he’s been shocked with an electric pulse and collapses to the concrete sidewalk. The lightning quick zap-crackle pops audibly like a gunshot, the acrid scent of singed hair and clothes suddenly occupying the atmosphere around.

It’s supposed to be illegal, using one’s Evolved ability on another citizen without their consent. But Luther doesn’t seem to be considering that possibility at that precise moment.


Her eyes widen as she speeds past him and he unleashes his ability on the stalker. Wind whipping at her brown hair when she pivots to wheel around, at Luther’s back huffing and puffing as her fist tighten. Molly’s gaze flicks to Glen on the pavement and she takes a step forward. Hand going to her backpack she digs in it until she's pulling out a knife. Fuck the pepper spray.

A simple, unadorned thing that she holds out to her side with a glare on her face. She's lucky Luther is here yes. She wants to convince herself that she could take Glen on her own but.. Molly shakes her head as she steps forward again not leaving Luther’s side. “Glen what? What's your last name?” It's an innocent question but the tone is nothing if not filled with venom.

There's a moment of weighing a choice for Molly and she seems to come to hers quickly because soon after, “And your mother’s first.”

Curled in a fetal position and trembling, Glen looks somehow even more harmless than he had been before. Glen swallows dryly, uncertainty causing his tone to waver. “P-please, Molly… I didn’t m-mean…” He hasn’t answered her question. As the young man sees the knife in Molly’s hand, he starts to lift a hand as if this would help to block the stabbing implement at all.

Luther too, sees the knife and he reaches his hand to tap Molly’s shoulder. To distract and derail her line of thought with the weapon. “Molly, give me the knife,” her says, hand then held out for the weapon.

Ducking underneath Luther’s hand and bounds over to Glen to stoop down holding the knife at his throat. “Name!” Voice shrill as she tries to keep it steady, her grip wobbles but there's a renewed sense of I'm Doing This and the blade straightens as the clairvoyant holds it tight against Glen’s throat.

“Let me Luther.” Her tone is cold but her eyes are wide and the pupils shake with the anxiety. She knows though, she has too. Molly has always been a good student. Leaning in close to Glen to stare him in the eyes. She funnels all her terror and anxiety of a stalker type situation into this stare and opens her mouth to softly deliver, “Names.. now.”

It might be an odd request for the man. The insistence.

“W-Watkins!” Glen bleats out under the knife. Now that she’s up close, she can see his eyes are a watery green-hazel. “M-my mom’s name is Jeanine… please, I- I just wanted to…”

It’s the anxious tone of Molly’s voice that has Luther stepping forward, but not to an overbearing distance. “Molly…” He glances around to the very public street they’re on, making sure that nobody is too curious. “Let him go. He’s not going to hurt you.” He inches closer, brows pulled together in a furrow of concern. “Give me the knife, Molly.”

The names are noted and quickly cataloged and Molly crouches to sit before the young man, for a sixteen year old she looks.. scary. Haunted Maybe is the better word.. haunted because she's not going to be a victim. Not again.

Blue eyes go distant as she locks onto Jeanine Watkins’ location. A tilt of her head and Molly is smiling, “She likes cats huh?” Her words slow but delivered in time. Her mind's eye peers around the woman and her immediate surroundings. Leaning closer she whispers something in Glen’s ear before backing away slowly while staring down at the man the whole time. She's shaking.

She backs up a few more steps and holds up her knife in the air, Luther can have it she's done what she needed. The clairvoyant doesn't say anything as her shoulders shake and the rest of her body tremble. Molly won't cry. Not until tonight when she's alone in her room.

There’s probably little that Glen knows of Molly’s true capability, because his eyes widen as she whispers his address and the warning to watch the windows into his ear. Also to have pointed out his mother’s pets, somehow. His whimpering fades into confusion staring back at Molly. “I could protect you,” he swallows down, whispers back at her, though the words are audible enough that she can hear it as she’s backing away.

With the knife relinquished into his hand, Luther slips the blade away into a pocket while he watches Molly as the girl stands up silently. The words out of Glen turn his attention to the young man, though, and finally Luther steps around Molly and stoops beside him. “Listen to me. In a moment, you’re going to stand up and get the fuck out of here. This stalker shit is done, you got that? Molly Walker is off your radar. And if you come near her again…” A hand snaps down and grasps a fistful of Glen’s shirt, hoisting him close. “You’re a fuckin’ dead man. Got it?”

Glen gets a rough shake for his delay of answer, but the young man looks distractedly at Molly before he gulps down the fear and nods slowly to Luther.

Luther releases Glen roughly, and pushes back to his full tall height. “C’mon Molly, let’s get you home.” He turns a half step aside, giving her space to step away from the stalker and go along with him in escort.

“No means no!” Hype man Molly yells and almost kicks him in the head but that would be overkill. She already has his address and she backs away with a sigh before looking up at Luther before she squints again over at Glen on the ground. He doesn't get a goodbye as she walks away with the man.

She's silent for a few minutes as they walk. Unwilling to go there at the moment. Blue eyes watery with tears but she's holding true to herself, she's a big girl god damn it. Molly will cry at home. In the safety of her room and covers. A shaky hand goes out to brush strands of hair out of her eyes.

How fucking stupid. What was she gonna do, stab him? Well if she was ever going to— “Thanks, for that.” She says in a small voice, ripping her thoughts from that train of thought.

Glen Watkins is left behind to pick himself up and stagger off to lick his wounds. He won’t cry to his mother though, just as Molly won’t cry to anybody either.

As Luther and Molly walk, the man reaches into a pocket and extracts her knife from earlier and a wallet that proves not his own. He slides out the few bills of cash and the photo ID of the man they’d essentially just assaulted with their powers. The knife and cash are offered over first, then Luther shows Molly the ID. “Take the money,” he says quietly, but he holds on to the ID.

So, she knows now that he knows what she can do. Which is odd, given their lack of encounters with each other. Or maybe not, if she’s trusted the number of adults she’s had in her life at Pinehearst.

“Next time they get close, knee to the balls,” continues the man, musing aloud, side glancing to Molly beside him.

“I don't need it.” She didn't need cash, Matt and Mohinder helped with that enough. Molly takes the knife though and slides it back into her backpack before she keeps walking with him. She keeps going before she stops and takes the cash out of Luther’s hand. She’ll just give it to someone else or something. They walk in silence for those few minutes before Luther offers suggestions as to the next time Molly had an altercation with someone. She only had one fight in mind that she wanted to win. Everyone else could jump off a bridge. Blue eyes flatten as they watch the landscape passing by slowly due to the pair’s pace of walking.

“Have you killed anyone?” The question is simple and asked in a small voice, Molly doesn't return his gaze. Just stares forward with a sad look, deflated. That adrenaline spike leaving her tired, emotionally weak. Molly wishes it was all easy, getting over death, killing, the want of revenge. It was sickening after so many years. Wasn't it.

“How did it feel?”

It’s like he knew Molly would take it, or willed it so, that Luther keeps a hold on the money in wait until she actually turns to take it. He slips the ID back into a pocket as they walk. Whatever is to become of Glen Watkins will be determined by the company, perhaps, in the near future.

The question of whether or not he’s killed someone, though, doesn’t receive an answer. At least not right away. There’s no admission whether or not he has killed another person, leaving Molly to wonder. Or rather, to assume. The man continues a few more paces down the street before he replies, “Some things change you forever.” They get even further before he adds with a more significant look to the sixteen-year-old, “But, you decide how you change, if you do. Don’t let anybody else make that choice for you.”

He looks to her seriously at first, but slowly a thin smile picks that moment to creep up on Luther as he has a thought. “You want to grab a bite? There’s a pretty good place that has pie, down that way.” He and Kaylee have likely been to the spot before, hence the knowledge. “C’mon, after the night you’ve had, you deserve it.” He sounds encouraging, although without the pressure to force her to go that way.

“I've never really felt like I had much choice in anything.” The death of her parents, being taken hostage by the Company. Being “taken in” by Pinehearst. “There's been a lot of shuffling.” New handlers, all the same. Otherwise the teen walks in silence, contemplative on the state of her life. Of what she almost did. She wanted to cut him. Hurt Glen.

The prospect of food snaps Molly out of her thoughts and she gives Luther a sidelong look, hesitant. She likes Luther, she owes him. And he's right, she's starving. Her stomach growls in answer to the question, answering for her. “Sure why not.” Her mood hasn't improved but Luther is a comfort that she's unwilling to totally be grateful for.

Just grateful enough.

As advertised, the place they wind up in is a more intimate hole-in-the-wall diner style eatery meant for the locals and those in-the-know. The place is small enough that one would assume no large group of tourists would fit, and bland looking enough to be unappealing to those gaggles. It’s a good place to find a calm meal. And a pretty good selection of individually sized pies with various fillings both sweet and savory.

The owner of the little shop, Betty, a sweet faced lady with Southern sass underneath the muddled accent and occasional throw-out of ‘isms’, greets the pair entering with a familiarity to Luther, and curiosity to Molly’s presence beside the man. “Heya Luther, who’s your friend?” Her dark eyes sweep over the young budding woman before her, and in a way the woman just seems to read Molly. “What can I getcha hun?” Betty asks gently, less of that sass making it through and more of the nurturing making it through.

And, the woman adds with an extra smile, “Don’t worry if what you want isn’t on the menu either. You just tell Betty what you’re feeling up to.”

It’s a meal shared without pressure to fill in the silence between bites. Luther’s demeanor is a quiet one, more the type to listen and ask questions out of curious intent and genuine interest than out of obligation. If anything, Molly learns just how much food the man can put away in a single sitting, too. By the end of the meal, he offers an escort back to where she needs to be that evening.

Only that this time, he’ll absolutely insist on seeing her home.

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