Chapter Four

“Consequence and Lasagna”

Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet

Lower East Side, Manhattan.

Tension had grown thick between Peter and Claire ever since the Deveaux Building incident and they barely spoke to each other for the rest of the day. They weren’t angry at each other by any means, but there was a sudden, unspoken awkwardness that sent them both into vows of silence.

Empathetic Peter noticed it right away, and he grappled with the right moment to come face to face with the issue. After all, it was he who had been coarse and he who had ditched Claude and Claire on the roof. It was also he who was trudging way through his awful, scattered fling with Simone. But what did it really matter? They had bigger problems at hand, and there was simply no time to be petty.

“I’m sorry,” Peter announced, as Claire was leaning against the master bathroom doorway in her pajamas, a toothbrush in her hand. She seemed startled by the apology, and frowned.

“What for?” she asked casually, rinsing off her toothbrush, turning off the bathroom light, and lounging comfortably on Peter’s bed.

Peter crossed his arms. “I was really rude, earlier today. I want to put it past us. This,” he gestured to the broad space around him, “is weird. I…miss the company.”

He awaited her reaction, a smile twitching one of the corners of his mouth. Claire burst into a grin.

“It’s okay. You just had a guy-moment,” she shrugged, giggling slightly. Peter scoffed.

“A guy-moment, excuse me?”

Peter didn’t even realize that he was approaching her, plopping himself down on the foot of his mattress. Claire was still grinning, now sitting Indian-style three feet across from him.

“Yeah, like when you pretend to be all rough and moody when you get upset. It’s the typical male defense mechanism,” Claire explained simply. Peter gaped.

“Who taught you that?”

“I took Psychology 101 in junior year,” she replied innocently.

Smirking, Peter nodded. “And what would the female defense mechanism be?”

“Bitch till the cows come home and tear out some hair along the way.”

Claire heard Peter truly laugh for the first time. It was kind of throaty and a little old for him. Not exactly the sound you’d expect from a….how old was he again? Couldn’t be a day over thirty, and he looked much younger…

“I think your teacher might have been onto something,” he replied, still chuckling.

“Did you ever take psychology in high school?” Claire asked, trying to find some round-about way to get his age out of him without actually asking him.

“No, I took it in college though. It was a required course,” Peter cringed. “Trust me; it’s not nearly as fun as you get in the good ol’ days.”

Claire snorted. “You call high school the ‘good ol’ days?’ It couldn’t have been that long ago.”

Peter reflected back. “Class of 98’, so I guess you’re right. It doesn’t seem like so long ago…”

Doing the calculations quickly in her head, Claire figured out that he was twenty-six years old. She absently mused that he wasn’t much older than her, not even a decade, and would have thought more had she reminded herself that Peter could read minds after all.

“I bet high school’s not that bad for you, being a popular little cheerleader,” Peter smiled tightly, as if it pained him to say that. Claire tutted.

“You watch too much TV, Peter. High school actually sucks more for the popular crowd. And besides, I wasn’t that popular, my best friend was. I’ve only been a cheerleader for seven months.”

Peter was a tad amazed. It had been eight years and he’d almost forgotten what high school was really like.

“I wasn’t too bad off, but I can tell you I wasn’t Peter Petrelli back then; I was ‘Nathan’s little brother.’ My teachers kept criticizing me because of what he could do. Class president, highest average in Law Ed…and I was roped into the lawyer thing, so I wasted four years on law and judicial courses, when I should have taken the medical pathway. I…pretty much screwed it up.”

“You turned out okay,” beamed Claire. Peter faux pouted.

“Just okay?”

“Alright, fabulous!”

They’d never had a conversation like this before…just about their pasts, themselves. Every other time the subject would turn to their powers, or the end of the world, but this was a great normalizer for both of them. Peter got to reflect on what a klutz he was, while Claire absorbed everything she possibly could about her hero.

Neither one of them had intended to just sit there for hours, chatting, until the clock turned past midnight, deep into the AMs. Their discussion had turned into lazy murmurs, with Claire resting under the covers, against her pillow, not taking her eyes off Peter. The man himself was on his stomach, sprawled out at her feet, on top of the covers and still fully dressed.

He let a big yawn escape his lips, and his eyes closed. He found that he could not open them up again, and submitted to sleep, with Claire’s raspy goodnight the last thing tying him to consciousness.

The loud buzzing woke Claire first. She blinked drowsily, drifting into reality, trying to figure out where the grinding noise was coming from. But then she saw Peter and her query was forgotten.

The young man was languidly stretched across the foot of the bed, one hand resting on his stomach, while another was hanging off the side of the bed. Claire felt his abs pressing down on her comforter-covered toes, tempting her to wiggle her feet a bit just see if he was ticklish. His long volumous bangs were just slightly obscuring his face so Claire could still see enough of him; his parted lips (his lower lip drooping from that birth defect he explained about in their latest conversation), calm expression, his slow breathing. He seemed peaceful, sleepy, and innocent, and Claire didn’t notice the little giggle that escaped her lips.

Unfortunately, Peter started to stir, halting Claire’s study of him. He bewilderedly leaned up and looked around, trying to figure out how he’d fallen asleep in jeans and a café brown hoodie. Any questions he may have had were overwhelmed when he caught sight of Claire smiling at him and sinking back into his fluffy pillows.

Peter’s eyes widened, and the events of the night before came rushing back to him. How late had they stayed up talking? Peter was so tired, but he hadn’t been able to tear himself away from her and their conversation. In the end, he was too weighted to even stumble ten feet to the couch (his current sleeping arrangement) and he went right to sleep by the footboard.

Now he was jolting up, clutching his throbbing head, prompting Claire’s chipper expression to sink. He yawned a couple times then shook out his limbs, before beginning a stream of nervous apologies to Claire.

“I’m really sorry about that, I was just tired, and I fell asleep without knowing-,”

“Shh, it’s okay,” assured Claire, her smile returning at the sight of his messy hair. “After all that Claude-beating you had every right to sleep on something comfy.”

Peter looked speechless. “Well, yeah, but you’re-,”

“I don’t mind. Now what’s that annoying noise?”

Peter hadn’t noticed the impatient doorbell buzzing throughout his apartment. He quickly tousled his hair, trying to get it to lie somewhat straight, and went to answer the door.

“Nathan,” he groaned, looking through the peephole. He turned to Claire. “Er…you might want to go get dressed.”

He opened the door as Claire hurriedly grabbed her duffel bag and went into the master bathroom.

Nathan scrutinized Peter’s wrinkled apparel as he walked through the doorway, and Peter tried to wipe the sleep out of his eyes.

“So you’ve finally decided not to run from me anymore, eh Pete?” asked Nathan sardonically with his fingertips on his hips.

How much Peter wished he could just go back to bed. “Yeah…sure,” he muttered, yawning again.

Nathan put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and peered closer. “Is something wrong with you?”

Peter shrugged off Nathan’s hands. “Fine. Just didn’t get my forty winks.”

“Was it because of another one of your visions?” scoffed Nathan, but Peter could tell that there was some worry mixed with the snappiness.

“No,” Peter said honestly, worrying that this dialogue would take a wrong turn. “Listen, just…why are you here?”

“Suresh. He’s working on a cure, and he needs your DNA for it, and he told me to ask you for some. A strand of hair, some blood, a nail clipping, anything like that. Afterwards, he wants you to be the first patient.”

Peter’s eyes flashed with an uncalled for selfishness. “What if I don’t want to be cured, Nathan? You can hate your ability all you want, but I like mine. I finally get to be something, and all you want to do is take it away.”

“It’s not an ability, it’s a mutation,” growled Nathan dangerously. “You know how much this could kill my election? Everything I’ve ever worked for? People can’t understand what we’re capable of, they won’t understand. And if you’re set to blow up this city, it’s the only way to stop it.”

“I have help, I have other ways,” cried Peter indignantly. “Will you ever trust that I can get myself out of something on my own for once?”

“Not now,” was Nathan’s flat reply. “It’s too risky. You need to go back to your job, your old life, Peter. Start making something of yourself. You’re twenty six years old, for God’s sake, when I was your age-,”

Peter sighed, turning away from his rambling older brother and pacing a bit before turning back around when an idea struck him. An idea that would make him forget his own desires, making them seem so petty and he felt noble just thinking about offering it.

It was also as close as he was gonna get to having a say in his own fate while Nathan was there.

“How ‘bout this? What if there’s something in it for me? Or actually, someone I know.”

Nathan stared. “What?”

Before Peter could reply, Claire emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a plain T-shirt. She tried to make herself undetectable, but Nathan spotted her as soon as she walked to the other side of the bedroom.

“Who the hell is that?” hissed Nathan. Claire heard him, and wished desperately that she could turn invisible like Peter and Claude.

“Come in here, Claire,” hollered Peter from the living room. Claire timidly tread her way over to the brothers, feeling herself dissected by Nathan’s piercing glower. She recognized him from his campaign commercial, recalling his bright grins that even then she’d seen as fake.

“Why again did you say you were so tired, Peter?” asked Nathan, cocking his head disdainfully. Peter gaped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We were talking,” he said squarely and slow, emphasizing the ‘talking.’ Nathan closed his eyes, seething.

“Ignorance is bliss. I’m not gonna even ask,” Nathan decided at last, finally deciding to open his lids. Claire was getting increasingly uncomfortable, to Peter’s alert.

“That deal, then?” he changed the subject. Nathan sunk back into his normal self, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

“What do you want?” he groaned.

Peter nudged Claire gently with his elbow. “Find her father. Lewis Rushton. That’s why she came to New York, and she’s staying with me because she’s being hunted by a murderer. If you find Rushton…I’ll take your cure.”

Nathan considered it, while Claire made sure she had heard right. “A cure?” she whispered.

Peter nodded, while Nathan tried negotiating some more. “And you’ll start working again? You’ll move on with your damn life already?”

“After I avoid exploding, yeah,” replied Peter, calmer then a man should be who was basically throwing his dreams away.

Claire grabbed his wrist harshly. “No! You can’t take a cure! You have to save the world!”

Heart already clenching, Peter shot a look to Nathan, and the older man excused himself, heading into the bedroom and giving the others a moment’s privacy.

His selflessness had reached a new record. He’d abandoned his bed, life, job, his ambitions, and now his powers all in the name of helping Claire. At first, she had been flattered by his kindness, but now she knew it was just too much. No one could accept such gifts when they had done nothing in return. It was unfair, unethical, and almost inhumane.

“I’m the one destroying the world,” choked Peter. “This is how I can save it.”

“But what about afterward?” breathed Claire quickly. “You hated how your life was, you told me last night. These powers mean so much to you; I won’t let you throw them away for me.”

“I thought you said the powers were awful,” Peter said quizzically.

“They used to be for me. But you…look at all the things you can do! What I can …it’s all gross and I might die alone five hundred years in the future or something. But you can move things with your mind; y-you know how many times in my life that I wanted invisibility, too?”

“This isn’t about me,” replied Peter simply. “I can’t let my selfishness make the world end. And on top of that, you can find your real father. It’s worth it if something good comes out of this.”

Claire didn’t know what to say. She was engrossed by his sincerity, his heart. How could a human put so much on the line. It was against their nature, Homo sapiens, to be anything but selfish and greedy. Where did Peter put it all? Did he just release his anger, his seven sins, or did they build up in the pit of his stomach, the ultimate secret that not even Claire knew about?

“This could really be the one way to save the world.” smiled Peter. “It may just be destiny.”

Claire scoffed weakly. “You’d give up your freak show for destiny?”

Peter was nonchalant. “I wanted these powers so I could be a hero. Now, I’ve done that, haven’t I? It’s time to start giving back.”

In the space of a couple minutes, he’d gone from being addicted to his ability, to seeing the big picture and realizing what a futile little person he was in the grand scheme of things. Peter had always been self-sacrificing, and even his little bouts of egocentricity were short-lived and regretted. Claire had never stopped being the priority, even after Homecoming. She still needed to be protected and cared for, and he was the only one left to do so. He’d died for her, he’d killed for her (even if the victim had come back to life and walked away)…this would not be the worse sacrifice in the world.

Nathan re-entered, coming out of the bathroom. He arched a daring eyebrow at his brother.

“So?”

“I’ll do it. I give my powers up and I’ll go back to my life if you find Lewis Rushton and bring him to Claire. No loopholes, no double-talking, no excuses. Agreed?” Peter announced, subtly raising himself to his full height, which was slightly taller then Nathan.

Nathan sighed. “Write down everything you know about the guy, kid. I’ll try to find him.”

Claire didn’t much appreciate being called ‘kid’, but she still continued to grab a post-it off Peter’s computer desk, and wrote down the few facts she knew about her father.

“He lived in New York the last time I heard, but that was fifteen years ago,” Claire added, as she wrote. She handed the piece of sticky paper to Nathan, and he scanned over it.

“As soon as I find this man, you’re taking that cure,” he told Peter sternly. Peter’s mouth was a grim slash, and he extended his hand.

“Shake on it.”

“It’s only proper,” shrugged Nathan, gripping his brother’s hand and roughly shaking it. Claire felt queasy staring at their intertwined hands, sealing the ultimate agreement.

Nathan smiled like a skeeving lawyer, which was of course fitting, before letting himself out. The door slammed, and Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, the fire escape instructions, the gold doorknob with the cracked foil, and the gray green paint job that was starting to peel. Everything he’d just consented to was so rushed and done out of an honorable high. His heart began to sink. Though he would have done the same thing if he had the choice to go back and change it (and incidentally, he could), he still felt suffocated, his mind clicking through all the things that he would no longer be able to do once he got that shot.

Flying, the one beautiful thing he’d wanted to do all his life? No longer an option. Being able to survive anything? Out the window. Being able to tell what people were thinking, saving him so much frustration? That would be dissolved as well. He’d be normal again, unspecial, insignificant. He’d still be admired by his family and friends, of course; Peter wasn’t that pessimistic…but the impending power drain was not a happy event.

Claire sensed his deep thoughts, watching him as he stared burning holes into that door. She lightly grabbed his wrist, mostly to remind him that she was still there, grateful for the rest of her life (if it was possible to be even more grateful; she already owed him her life). The least she could do was offer a comforting hand and a listening ear.

Claire wanted him to grin in that quirky, crooked way now more than ever before. His chagrin was catching, and the seriousness started to make the air thick and stuffy. She had to restrain herself from just throwing herself into his arms, nuzzling into his chest and consoling herself as much as him. She wanted to bow to his feet and just cry out all the debt and thankfulness, kiss him over and over, pouring out her reverence and current worship of everything he had altruistically done for her. But there was no way to express it; instead, she stood there numbed, holding his wrist and resting her forehead against his bicep.

“Thank you,” she whispered faintly. “For everything.”

Peter seemed to come around to her presence, still not taking his eyes off the wall. His arm slid up, catching her fingertips, and then he brought his hand down with hers in its grasp. Claire was surprised, but not taken aback. She felt pressure on the top of her head, his chin turning to rest on her crown. Exhaling together, the stood in unified thought, the beginning of the end coming faster then ever expected.

Mohinder Suresh

Brooklyn, New York

Suresh heard the knock on the door just as he sat down at his computer desk to start more work on the list. Muttering indignantly in his native tongue, he pursed his lips, got up out of his chair, and went to open his door.

“What?” he asked sourly as he turned his doorknob. His surly mood evaporated, when he saw that it was Nathan Petrelli glowing arrogantly in his doorway.

“Do you have it?” breathed Mohinder, ushering the other man inside. Nathan smirked.

“Yeah,” he said pulling a brown hairbrush out of his pocket. “He agreed to it anyway, but that was after I took this. They were talking and I stole it out of the bathroom. I figured a little insurance couldn’t hurt.”

Mohinder took the hairbrush from Nathan, as happy as anyone could possibly be about seeing a brush full of hair. “Well done, Nathan, thank you. I’ll get to work on it right away.”

“Good, Doctor. I’m counting on it.”

Suresh gently pulled out Peter’s hair from the brush and placed it in a glass vial he dug up from one of his drawers.

“I know,” he agreed. “We all are.”

Peter and Claire

Peter’s Apartment

By dinnertime, Peter and Claire’s moods had gotten slightly more normal with Peter’s cooking improving the mood even more.

“I’ve heard some interesting things about my lasagna before,” he commented as he set it out on the table, “Nathan says that it tastes like it’s burnt and cold at the same time.”

“Who are you, Susan off Desperate Housewives?” giggled Claire, sticking her fork into the lump of odd looking pasta that she’d served herself.

Peter didn’t get it. “I...don’t watch Desperate Housewives.”

“Susan’s macaroni and cheese. She can never make it right. It’s always tasteless, or too cheesy, or undercooked, or fried, or something. Everyone hates it, even her.”

Peter chuckled. “I promise that you don’t have to like the lasagna. I’ve got ice cream in the freezer; you can eat that for dinner if you want.”

“Well, I’ll at least taste it,” grinned Claire, making a big show of picking up a forkful and putting it in her mouth. Indeed, he was right. The pasta was hardly chewable or cooked and the sauce still had bits of frost in it. She really, really, really, tried not to just spit it out and dive into that ice cream that he’d offered. But poor Peter had had such a terrible day. If she owed him a life debt, she could at least pretend to adore his cooking.

Peter eagerly awaited her reaction, preparing himself for her grimace, and maybe even a little vomit. Instead, she masticated, swallowed, and winked at him.

“Nathan’s an idiot. It’s awesome.”

Peter almost fell over. “Are you kidding me? Bearable, maybe, in a stranded-on-a-desert-island-with-nothing-else-to-eat kind of way but awesome?”

“I mean it! I love it, really,” Claire lied, taking in another mouthful just to prove her point. This is very tasty. I love it. Ha! Get out of my head Peter! Nothing to see here!

Peter beamed, heading back into the kitchen to grab the broccoli and breadsticks. Claire allowed herself a small gag before remembering his kindness, and imagining that the lasagna tasted like cupcakes. Peter re-entered the room, setting down the remaining food and pouring some Coke into her glass. She grabbed it quickly, washing down what she had just eaten a little too enthusiastically, prompting Peter’s smile to drop a notch.

He sat across from her. “Are you lying?” he asked, not unkindly or hurt, but with a knowing glint in his eye.

“No,” replied Claire innocently, taking a bite of bread. Luckily, Peter hadn’t screwed that up.

Peter peered at her closer, as if he could find a spot on her that advertised her untruthfulness.

“I think you are.”

“Am not!” protested Claire.

“I dunnnno….” smirked Peter, looking at the ceiling in fake naivety.

Claire gave up. “Okay, okay! I’m lying!”

Peter grinned good-naturedly. “So what do you really think about it?”

Staring at his anticipation, Claire lowered her eyes shamefully. “It’s awful. You are Susan Meyor.”

Peter burst out laughing. “I knew it! No one likes it, why would you?”

“You’ve had a bad day. A bad month. It’s the least I could do,” she said sympathetically.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Me having an off day will not make you just like my cooking, Claire. I’m not offended at all, honestly. I hate it, even. And I kinda wanted you to hate it too. It’s like a… crappy housewarming present to my life.”

Claire mentally smacked herself. She’d tried to make things better and she’d actually made it WORSE. Peter had tried to offer such a kind gesture…if it was a twisted confused kind of gesture…and she had gone and messed up his intentions. Did she even deserve to hate Peter’s crummy lasagna anymore?

“It’s fine,” Peter shrugged, waving a carefree arm. “You have good taste.”

Claire loosened up. “It’s a good sign, I guess. You’re a nurse, which is already pushing it. If you were Emeril on top of that, I’d have to start thinking something…”

Peter laughed again. “At least I wasn’t a cheerleader.”

Claire tutted kindly. “Touché.”

They fell into a clean silence, not even pretending to eat the lasagna, and instead finishing off the bread and vegetable. Smirking wickedly, Peter decided to keep his promise about the ice cream, tossing Claire a tub of Moose Tracks after they cleaned up.

“Another housewarming gift, this one slightly tastier.”

Claire blushed, going to grab a bowl, but Peter stopped her, handing her a large spoon.

“There’s only one way to eat ice cream,” he winked. Claire caught his drift, cracking open the top and sticking her spoon right in.

“I don’t know what I did in a past life,” she said a few minutes later, when they were once again curled up across from each other on Peter’s bed. It had almost become like a secret tree house for them, where they went to talk and in this case, stuff themselves with calories.

“I mean,” she continued. “Everything is so weird.”

“Well,” Peter said decently, “normal is boring anyway.”

Claire smiled sadly. “My best friend used to tell me that. Before they took away his memories.”

Peter saw the joviality in her eyes start to flicker, making his heart twist a bit. Whatever this was that compelled him to care about her, barely knowing her at all, glowed stronger and he found himself frowning. But now. He was realizing that it was increasingly difficult to see her as “this girl that I have to protect and I don’t know why.” The more conversations they had like this, the closer they got. Claire was more then the damsel, she was now his friend. Admittedly, he usually hung out with people his own age, but they were two destined souls, bonded by trauma, and friendship would be hard to worm out of in their situation.

“I think I’ve had enough dinner,” Claire proclaimed, closing her half-eaten tub of ice cream that she assumed was now hers entirely, having shamelessly double-dipped. Peter seemed to concur, and he took the tub and spoon off her hands as she thanked him, again, for everything.

“It’s nothing. You’d do the same for me,” he replied confidently, returning to the kitchen. Claire leaned against the bedroom doorway.

“Are you sure? It’s not that I wouldn’t want to but I don’t know if I could…” Her face was taught with worry of an obligation she wasn’t certain she could fulfill. Peter tried to give her an encouraging gaze.

“You will. And not just for me, for anyone. I’m sure of it.”

“I think you’re full of lasagna.”

Peter snorted. “Off to bed. You need your sleep after last night.”

Claire sighed, but obliged, heading into the bathroom to get ready. After brushing her teeth, she frowned, looking around.

“Hey Peter?” she asked, poking her head out of the door.

“Yeah, what’s goin’ on?”

Claire bit her lip. “Have you seen my hairbrush?”

Yeah..that’s kind of an odd place to leave off a chapter, but it’s kind of…suspenseful, I guess. ) I’ll update soon!! And don’t worry, though Nathan was a little cruel in this chapter (more like the beginning of the season then present-Nate) he’ll eventually loosen up. After all, like Mama Petrelli says, he is just a big sap. )