Antihero (Indefinite Hiatus D: )

Chapter Forty-One

"Alright," I said as I sat in the car, the driver shutting the door behind me. I turned and glanced at Christopher who sent me a curious look. "Come on, say it."

"What?" he asked me, avoiding my eyes and looking out the window as the driver jumped in and started the car, speeding through the carpark.

"Whatever it is you've been wanting to say all afternoon." I rolled my eyes at him and crossed my legs, tapping my finger on the edge of the seat impatiently. "You were glaring holes into my back the entire interrogation," I explained, letting out a deep sigh. I needed a drink, or a cigarette – maybe both.

"I wasn't glaring," Christopher scoffed, turning to look at me, keeping his head rested gently on his palm. "I was simply looking."

"Yeah, okay." I laughed slightly. "Let's say staring instead then. Why?"

Christopher was silent for a moment and I looked away, deciding I really didn't care what his issue was anyway. He was the one who wanted to become a superhero. He was the one who got me into this fucked up position in the first place. It was simple, all I had to do was not care, which was exactly what I was going to do from-

"Why do you have to do it?" he asked suddenly, cutting off my thoughts.

I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"It's my job."

"Yeah, but Leonard said you're the only one who can... why?"

I shrugged and kept my eyes glued to the City speeding past, "Stop asking questions you know I can't answer."

"I don't know what you can't answer!" Christopher snapped, curling his hands in his lap as he glared at me angrily. I watched his reflection in the window but didn't dare to look at him. Who knows what emotion his eyes would be saying this time – something I wouldn't understand again, probably. I was sick of seeing them.

"Then don't ask," I replied coldly, my eyes flickering to the driver who was pretending he couldn't hear our conversation, although his posture was stiff and movements clunky.

"This whole thing just doesn't make any sense," Christopher began, running a hand through his hair shakily. "Implants that stop people from using their abilities is one thing, okay. Maybe the government wants control or something. But then there's you, and me, and all these heroes, who don't have an implant but registered and we track down Unregistered and Affected? Why? I don't understand what our goal is. Then you're the only person who can kill them? That doesn't make any sense – what about all the Advanced people who aren't from here? How do you kill them? Why do we kill them? Isn't there some way to –"

"Christopher," I cut him off quickly and sent him a small sideways glance. "You're asking questions that can get you killed," I said simply, turning back away from him as the driver coughed awkwardly.

"Michaelson..." Christophe trailed off and ran a hand down his face frustratedly. "I just don't understand."

"Look, you're not meant to. Okay? Just let it go," I said softly, turning and looking at him completely, resting my hand on his knee. "You won't ever understand, and you need to accept that. There are things I can't tell you, won't tell you. Either you accept that and stay, or don't and let DeMarlo decide what to do with you."

Christopher's eyes flickered left and right across mine, as though searching for some sign I wasn't telling the truth. Whatever he had been looking for, he didn't seem to find it, as he sighed and looked down at my hand on his knee. I pulled it back slowly and straightened my jacket, looking back out the window.