Chapter Three

“Simmer”

Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet

Lower East Side, Manhattan.

Peter Petrelli had to admit that he didn’t think ahead with the whole “Save the cheerleader, save the world,” thing. He just went with it, hopping on a plane to Odessa, dying, coming back to life, and spending a night in jail. But he had saved the cheerleader. Still, after all of that, he’d never given a stray thought to what the cheerleader herself would think about that. In his consciousness, he always assumed that he’d do the deed, go back to New York and try to prevent the bomb. End of story.

Yet, replaying that train of thought, Peter saw something strange in the would-be-plan. If he left his problems in Texas, would that mean that he’d never see Claire again? Of course they had to meet again at some point. They had to. He saved her life, for God’s sake, and if she was so important to saving the world, she’d have to come to New York. Also, though he’d never say it aloud for risk of Claude’s mocking and Nathan’s nagging, Peter felt a connection with Claire beyond the hero/damsel. He didn’t intend it at all to be sappy, but knowing the way that people misunderstood him, his feelings would probably be grossly twisted and blown out of proportion.

Downstairs, Peter leaned against his kitchen counter, waiting for some water to boil. Claire was still up on the rooftop, and Peter checked his watch, making sure she was in her 20 minute curfew. Though she was naturally starting to grow on him, Peter internally confessed that having her around would be a trouble. He couldn’t even keep a cat alive, let alone a lonely teenage girl who was trying her best not to break. And where was she supposed to sleep? Peter wouldn’t hesitate to let her stay in his bed, but that was a slightly awkward position to put her in, especially since the bedroom door was see-through.

The water on the stove was taking forever to boil, making Peter impatient.

“Can’t wait till I meet someone who can heat things up really fast,” he grumbled, consenting with an imaginary antagonist to at least start getting his other supplies out.

He reached for his fridge door, but before he could open it and take out the tomatoes, something on the freezer caught his eye. Peter sucked in air between gritted teeth, gently lifting the magnet off the photograph and holding it delicately between his fingers.

It was Charles Deveaux, back in his healthy state, with his daughter Simone kneeled grinning beside him. Peter’s heart wrenched at the sight of the woman, and he crossly came close to opening his trash can and throwing the thing away. But Charles…

Peter closed his trash can lid, sighing and still continuing his study of the picture. Poor Charles…I wasn’t even there when he died…Peter thought miserably. He believed. Simone forces herself to but Charles…he always believed.

He considered reluctantly putting the pic back on his fridge, but that’s what the Peter Petrelli of three weeks ago would have done. He could have let Simone stare him down with her exotic eyes, a constant reminder of how Peter loved too easily. Love is overrated; his mother had told him at the police station. Peter snorted audibly. I really should start listening to her.

The newer, stronger Peter opted for a different solution then to let this fickle, beautiful, but indecisive woman rule him like a puppy. After all, that’s what he was to her. A cute little boy toy to distract her from her man. He could almost hear her saying “Let the grown ups deal with their problems, Peter. You just go and try to find a nice girl.”

His mouth a grim slash, Peter folded the photo and ripped it right down the middle, Charles on one part and Simone on the other. Re-opening his trash can, he threw one of them inside.

“Have you ever met a man named Ted Sprague?”

Claire startled him, approaching the kitchen doorway. Peter reeled, and then realized that it was only his friend. Or was it acquaintance? Were they even friends?

With a swift movement, Peter casually closed his trash can and put Charles’s photo back on with a magnet. He asked her to repeat her question and she did, eyeing the now violently boiling pot of water on the stove.

Peter went to turn the heat down. “No, who is he?”

“An exploding man. Kinda,” Claire replied hesitantly. Peter’s eyes shot up into his bangs.

“He…you…you’ve seen this before?” he stuttered. Claire nodded.

“He came to my house and took my family hostage because my dad kidnapped him. Matt Parkman was with him, and he could-,”

“Read minds,” recalled Peter, not exactly sure how he could remember the man’s name. “You say your dad took them?”

“Yeah. He apparently kidnaps a lot of…people like us.”

“A man with horn rimmed glasses and a creepy Euro dude…,” Peter murmured, again recalling something with amazing accuracy. “That’s what Nathan said. I didn’t believe him when he told me…”

Claire frowned. “Nathan? Your brother?”

Peter arched an eyebrow. “How do you know him?”

Claire felt her face burn. She didn’t want to admit that she had been looking for him to help her.

“Campaign commercials,” she replied quickly. “A lot of them.”

This prompted Peter to chuckle. “Oh, right. Nathan said he got kidnapped by a man with horn rimmed glasses…and I met your dad, he had them too. It must have been him.”

“What can Nathan do?” asked Claire, excited to learn of yet another person like her.

Peter smiled a bit sadly. “He can fly. And what about Ted?”

“I’m not sure,” admitted Claire, a flash of fear in her eyes. “He could make orbs of nuclear energy or something with his hands. But he got shot and his powers started going out of control. He started exploding.”

“What happened to him? How’d you stop it?” Peter shot out frantically.

“He’s alive, I think. I tranquilized him; I was the only one who could get close enough, but I was burned all over from it.”

Peter could have sung the hallelujah chorus. “That’s it! That’s what I’ll do to stop exploding! Just use a tranquilizer!”

“Where are we gonna get one?” asked Claire, not meaning to rain on his parade. Peter’s face fell.

“I have a nurse’s license. I may be able to get morphine, but I’m between jobs.”

“You’re a nurse?” Claire said, a little surprised. Peter nodded a bit sheepishly, making Claire add “That’s really sweet.”

“I was a nurse,” confessed Peter. “Like I said, I kinda quit my job to go save the world. And...you.”

As if Peter hadn’t already sacrificed himself enough for her, now Claire knew that he’d also thrown away his career. Now, she was pinkining in the cheeks.

“But that’s just a small obstacle,” said Peter, chinning up. “Now that we know what to do, I can finally relax.

“Ted…took a long time to explode,” Claire said quietly. “Actually, he didn’t really explode. He more like…pulsed energy. How does it happen in your dreams?”

Peter blinked, his heart sinking. “I look down at my hands and they’re glowing red. Two seconds later, I scream, and explode with a huge blast that blows the city to dust.”

“That’s much worse,” Claire told him softly. “You’re more powerful than he is. I don’t think a shot would do it, and besides. If you blow up right away, when would we have time to give you one?”

Peter leaned against his countertop, a thoughtful forefinger stroking his lips.

“I don’t wanna die,” he whispered hoarsely. Claire hadn’t expected him to be so blunt, so…afraid. Her hero was cracking, and it broke her own heart to see him in such dread. She’d noticed it ever since their reunion only hours ago. When he’d saved her the first time, his eyes shone with confidence, a good heart, and illumination. Now, the burden was starting to take its toll. Who was forcing him to do all this? Forcing an innocent man to be haplessly responsible for such chaos?

“You weren’t afraid when you thr-,” Claire began to point out, but Peter interrupted her sharply.

“That was different,” he said, still staring at the simmering water on the stove. “It all happened so fast. I knew it was gonna happen but I didn’t feel it. Same when I tried to fly. I didn’t even think about the fact that I could break every bone in my body. Somehow, I just knew it all turn out okay but now…God, I can feel it. It’s fate. I never really realized before now but…I’m going to die, taking three million people with me.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Claire chided him gently. Peter didn’t look convinced, so Claire reached out and squeezed his arm for emphasis. He did not look horror-struck by the gesture, so Claire took that as a good sign.

“And I know you don’t really believe that,” continued Claire matter-of-factly. “If you honestly thought that this was hopeless, you would have ditched Claude days ago.”

Peter smirked kindly. “I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. It’s never that easy.” Claire smiled back.

“Yeah. The world has a funny way of screwing us over.” She released her grasp on his arm and settled her hands on her hips. “Now,” she announced. “what about dinner?” She cocked her head towards to stove.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get to work” Peter grinned, patting her lightly on the cheek before walking over to the pot. Claire walked into the living room, and when she was sure that Peter could not see her, she brought her fingers to the spot on her face where he had left his touch.

Don’t even think about it¸ her consciousness growled, arms figuratively crossed sternly. He’s like, thirty. Don’t even…no…just…no….

Once she was free of any unwanted thoughts (she had been careful to keep them in check around an admitted mind-reader), Claire headed to the master bedroom to start unpacking.

Peter, Claire, and Claude Raines

The Deveaux Building

“You’re weak, boy! Get up!”

“I’m trying!”

“Get up!”

THWACK! Peter groaned at the contact of the broom handle against his shoulder blades. Claire stood ten feet away from the duel, grimacing and turning her head away.

Peter stumbled to his feet again, unarmed, and trying to duck the impending blows from Claude’s makeshift “training device.” More like a weapon to me, he grumbled internally.

Managing to grab the end of the stick before it jabbed into his stomach, Peter mustered all of his strength to push it back, sending Claude careening into the pigeon cage. Peter took the half-second of safety to glance at Claire, who was currently wincing and had her hand over her mouth. She could only see Peter, who was trying his best to control his visibility, but even now and then, she could see a flash of the broomstick coming down.

Only then did it hit Peter that his intended glance at Claire had actually turned into staring, and he paid for it with Claude’s stick whacking him painfully on the back of the head.

Peter was humiliated by the whole experience. He was supposed to be the hero, for God’s sake, and here he was, getting whacked into a pulp so heinously his blonde “Bonnie lass,” as Claude called her, couldn’t even bare to watch.

“Ow! Will you give me a second to recover at all?”

“You’re invincible!” snapped Claude swinging the broom around wildly striking Peter everywhere possible. “You don’t need time!”

“I don’t….know…how to…fight!” Peter gritted out, successfully blocking none of the blows heading towards him. Claude rolled his eyes and hit Peter square in the chest knocking the wind out of him and making the younger man collapse to the ground. Claire gasped and considered rushing over to him, but she gave Claude the benefit of the doubt. Peter seemed to be really hurt, and it wasn’t something that cellular regeneration could instantly heal. Surely Claude couldn’t be cruel enough to continue.

“You don’t need to!” yelled Claude. “Use your powers! You think I’m tryin’ to teach you karate? Kung fu? No, this is all about getting a control on your abilities, saving yourself!”

Peter didn’t respond; too busy clutching his heart, gasping for air. Claire didn’t need to see the broom handle to know what was going to happen next. So much for Claude’s sympathy.

“No!” Claire cried, rushing forward. Peter was unaware of the impending danger, and Claire diving in front of his keeled over form. She had planned on stopping the club with her hands, but she had no idea where it was, and it ended up striking her across the side of the face.

Claire fell to the ground, right next to Peter, a huge red mark across her cheek. It hadn’t hurt much, but the force from it shook her from head to toe. Peter had finally regained some sort of breath, opening his eyes at the sound of a girl’s yell from above him.

“Claire!” he gasped, spotting her bruised face. He threw a horrified look at Claude, who was looking shocked himself, and had amended to holding the stick peacefully around the middle.

“You son of a bitch!” Peter barked, trying to stand and punch at the same time. Luckily, his gawky method didn’t need to work, as Claude abruptly went flying backwards into the far wall, an unseen energy throwing him back.

A couple throaty, stunned noises came from Peter’s mouth as he sat, wide-eyed, reeling from what had just happened.

“Ohmygod,” he blurted out, coming to his senses. He clambered up, rushing over to his fallen mentor, with Claire right behind him, totally confused.

Claude sat up, rubbing his head gingerly. Peter clutched him by the shoulders, doing a quick vitals check.

“Are you feeling okay?” he hastily asked. Claude looked up, bursting into a grin.

“That was bloody fantastic!” he exclaimed, getting up. Peter looked like he’d just been smacked again with that broomstick.

“What?!”

“Telekinesis! Brilliant! Amazing ability, you can do anything with it!”

“You think…you think that I just caused that?” Peter asked skeptically. He spotted a bewildered Claire next to him, and touched her lightly on the arm so she could see Claude. Who was, incidentally, going back into his normal snarky self.

“Well who else do you think did it, little miss mini-Rose over there?” Claire’s brow creased, even though she had no idea what Claude was referencing too. On the other hand, Peter looked exhilarated.

“That killer at Homecoming,” Claire spoke. “He cut open Jackie’s head without touching her.”

“It must have been him,” murmured Peter. “He came back from the dead too, and he scaled those steps within a second.” He turned to Claude. “You think I can do all that?”

“Focus,” shrugged Claude. “And,” he looked at Claire. “I do apologize for hitting you, but if you hadn’t tried to be all noble.,,”

He continued rambling, but Claire opted for listening to Peter instead.

“You didn’t have to do that but…thank you,” he said sincerely. Claire flushed, cursing herself again for being such an emotional teenage girl.

“No pr-,” she began, but decided that sounded too…her age. “Your welcome,” she closed, smiling a bit in spite of herself.

“You should probably go downstairs, though,” Peter said more loudly, so Claude could hear. “I don’t want you seeing this.”

“You can stay,” countered Claude. “I think the lad’s just too mortified to get his arse kicked in front of his damsel.” Peter glared at him.

“No,” lied Peter. He directed his next line at Claire. “You’re distracting me. And Claude? Will you stop calling me ‘lad’ all the time?”

Claire’s stomach squirmed a bit. Distracting him how?

“Even better,” argued Claude. “Keep her up here. You need to fight your distractions. Remember what I told you about em’?”

“Distractions are your weakness, mate,” mocked Peter, making Claire giggle with his faux British accent.

“Exactly. And there’s no better diversion then a pretty girl.”

“You know that’s not the kind of distraction I meant, Claude,” sighed Peter, getting exhausted with all of the bum’s suggestive remarks about his status quo with Claire. The girl, on the other hand, felt slightly crestfallen.

“I simply meant that-,” Peter started to explain, but a loud creak across from them sent them all into silence. Simone Deveaux was stepping out onto the rooftop, fingering a little golden key thoughtfully.

Peter’s light caress on Claire turned into a tight clutch on her arm. He quietly pulled her up and joined her hand with Claude’s. Both of them looked at him, perplexed, but he simply made the “one second” finger and brushed past Claire, over to Simone.

Frustration and hurt clouded the art dealer’s pretty eyes and Peter’s heart tightened. He held a grudge against her, true, but in that moment he understood that a part of him did still love her. He hadn’t seen her properly in three weeks, unable to fully appreciate her. The last time he saw her, he left her with a fiery kiss and a promise that he’d return. He had lied.

Peter stood inches in front of her, totally undetectable. He found his fingers reaching out towards her face, about to cradle her teary skin. Though Simone was oblivious to anyone, Claire could see the whole thing, never feeling younger.

“His girl,” confirmed Claude in a low whisper. “Right little tart, that one.”

Claire was biting her bottom lip involuntarily, a streak of selfish satisfaction beaming through her when she saw what happened next.

Simone held up the key, staring at it grimly. “Oh, Isaac,” she breathed, clutching the key and pocketing at it, as she walked to the left balcony side. Peter was left wordless and dumb, his arm still extended with parted fingers. He recovered smoothly, using his outstretched arm to reach up and run his fingers through his sleek black hair, obviously dismayed. He made his way back to the stairwell without looking at Claude or Claire.

Claire knew it was selfish and hurtful to be glad about the woman’s declaration of another man’s name, one that clearly made Peter’s heart ache, but she couldn’t help it. At the end of the day, she was still a female, and women were ruthless by raw nature when it came to men.

But who was she kidding? Claire may have found Peter handsome, endearing, and utterly amazing, but she still had common sense. Her feelings for him, if she could call them that, were just like a celebrity crush; not based on much, and without a snowball’s chance in hell of having those feelings returned. When interacting with him, she tried her best not to let those thoughts get in the way of how they got along; awkwardness would ruin any garbled friendship they’d established. Yet, every time he’d looked at her it had gotten harder and harder to control her emotions.

“C’mon,” whispered Claude, pulling Claire gently along (probably to stress his prior apology). Simone was left alone on the rooftop.

When the three of them were in the stairwell, Claude confronted Peter, roughly grabbing his shoulder and forcing the young man to face him.

“Now what the hell was that?” he called, getting straight to the point. Peter cast a sharp look towards the British man, totally ignoring Claire, before turning around and continuing his way down the stairs.

“You can’t run from this forever, friend. You need to move on.”

For once, there was no sarcasm in Claude’s voice. He sounded genuinely concerned. Peter halted in his tracks and turned menacingly around again.

“She said…’Isaac’. Isaac. A heroin addicted comic artist. Why. just…why..?” Peter couldn’t form a comprehensive sentence, and he rubbed his forehead with his palm.

Claire was feeling increasingly guiltier about her joviality at the expense of Peter’s rejection. His misery was contagious, and she looked down in shame.

“I told you, she’s fickle,” grunted Claude. “Women suck too. You’d best just be a hermit or gay. Pick one.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m not gay, and I’m not you. I’m a dead man walking, so it really doesn’t matter, does it?”

Claire frowned. “Peter…” she began.

“Negativity,” taunted Claude. “Look how that eats at you, Peter. You want you go boom, do you?”

“I know, I know, “ admitted Peter. “It’s just..too much sometimes. You try being a human time bomb.”

“It’s elementary,” shrugged Claude. “Step one:Stop whining. Step Two: Get some meat and potatoes, and step infinity: listen to me. It’s really not that hard, mate.”

Peter flinched at Claude’s choice of symbolism. “I’ve already got step two covered, thanks,” he glowered. Claire felt out of place at the certain exchange of more masculine banter that was unfolding before her.

“Let’s go,” she coughed, changing the subject. “That woman-,”

“Simone,” clarified Peter. That’s either a soap opera or a stripper name, thought Claire, settling on being angrier at Simone for hurting poor Peter then to be cheerful that a man she’d never had a chance with was now ‘available.’

“Simone will be coming down the staircase soon. We should at least get to a more open spot.”

“Good idea,” agreed Peter. He delicately took hold of Claire’s fingers, leading her down the flight of steps and literally taking her off Claude’s hand.

Claude shook his head, knowing that if his assumptions weren’t correct then, they would be soon.