I’ve been a little lax on the disclaimer, so here goes:

I own nothing, ya’ll. I wish I did, but it’s Kring and Co’s, so I’m just borrowing.

Chapter Six

“Frozen Teardrops”

Peter Petrelli

Centre Street, New York

Brooding through the rain that was now starting to drizzle, Peter passed by the taxi and subway, choosing to walk home instead. It was only a short mosey from Columbus Park to his apartment building at on the corner of Centre and Canal.

A sea of yellow umbrellas blossomed on the crowded New York street as the glistening shower started to grow in fervor. Peter wore no umbrella, but a wicked smirk, recalling that there were ten other ways he could fend off the rain. Telekinetically stop the raindrops…crystallize them into sleek hail…or even fly up, up, and away to avoid the impending downpour.

After his umpteenth meeting with Claude, Peter’s mood had experienced an uncharacteristic shift. More like a complete 180, actually. The epiphanies about Gabriel were gruesome, but filled his resolve with more fire and dark determination than anything he’d encountered in recent times. Their enemy was even more of a psychopath then they’d suspected, making it all the more dangerous for Claire.

Peter was only vaguely concerned about his own life.

Claire Bennet and Heidi Petrelli

Peter’s Apartment

Days of Our Lives reached its half-hour intermission when Claire heard the faint jingling of keys outside the front door. A couple seconds later, Peter slid through, wet bangs hanging snarled across his eyes and forehead.

Claire immediately handed him a dish towel from the kitchen and commented sympathetically that he forgot his umbrella. Peter chuckled grimly, wringing out his sodden, coal-colored hair.

Before he could muster up some sort of verbal response, Heidi rolled over from the living room, her warm smile falling quirky at the sight of her sharp brother-in-law.

“Hey Pete,” she said slowly, inspecting his dripping trench coat. “There were no problems or anything. Your friend was a total brat, though,” she joked, winking at Claire.

Peter didn’t seem much in the mood for frivolity though, and Heidi judged so by his tight barely-there smile. Heidi shifted into her normal etiquette.

“Really, Claire was a gem,” Heidi told him honestly, “I’ll watch her anytime you’re out.”

Peter couldn’t help but smiling back genuinely; his ivory white teeth shone in contrast to the soaking locks clinging to the back of his neck. He stood in front of his foyer mirror, ruffling the towel across his boyish haircut, trying to dry things up.

“Thanks, Heidi,” he said softly. “I’m sorry it was so short notice, but I haven’t seen Andy since high school, and he was only in town for one day…”

A complete and utter lie, obviously. Heidi had no idea about their powers, so telling her that Peter was off training with Yoda would not have been appropriate. So, he invented some excuse about going to see an old friend from high school.

“It’s alright, really,” Heidi shrugged. “I understand.”

After they had said their farewells, and Heidi had departed, Peter went into the bathroom and replaced his clothes with a dry wardrobe. He had taken a brush to his hair and gotten it to lay totally slicked back with wet. Claire found that she didn’t like the look much, not on him at least. It was striking, but not to fit the Peter she knew and was comfortable around.

Especially since his current mood was already making her feel butterflies.

“Anything interesting happen?” she asked casually. Peter made a noncommittal noise, kicking off his shoes and curling up in one of his many comfy living room chairs.

“We talked about the killer,” he muttered. “I think he’s been slaying people for their powers, which makes it even more dangerous for us. We need to be on guard a lot more from now on.”

Claire accepted this without hesitation, nodding for emphasis. “Okay…”

She expected him to continue, but instead, he just rested the back of his head against the top of the chair and closed his eyes, tired. It was too early to be that worn out, and Claire worried that he’d been beaten again by Claude.

“No, he didn’t hit me,” sighed Peter, peeking at her from barely opened eyes. Claire swallowed harshly.

“You were reading my mind?” she asked, easily turning into an accusation. Peter blinked.

“I didn’t need to. What else would you have assumed?” he replied flatly.

“Did you discover any new powers this time?” Claire added, a reasonable assumption. Peter’s normally chocolate eyes flashed hazel; Claire noticed that they often did this when he was wound up about something.

“As a matter of fact…” he murmured charily, “Follow me to the roof.”

“It’s raining,” frowned Claire, perplexed. Peter grinned wickedly, making Claire’s spine shiver in polar degrees of uneasiness. His eyes were back to black now, the momentary glee abandoned.

“I know,” he husked, and slinked out the front door with Claire close behind.

The roof was already slick with puddles and the rain had reached its heavy pinnacle. Peter held to door open and Claire instinctively put her forearm out in front of her to shield her body from the blowing wetness.

Then, with one flick of his wrist, Peter made it stop. Every raindrop on that roof just halted, suspended in midair while the fall continued in the inverse of that little patch in a sea of skyscrapers. Claire gasped audibly, stepping outside with little drops of liquid crystals cascading over her skin and clothes.

“Is this the new power? Water control?” she whispered, walking towards the figure dressed in all black that stood in the center of the rooftop. He held his palms skyward, modest in his control.

“No, I’m just using telekinesis for this,” he said quietly, nonchalantly.

Peter persisted with the mind-control, pulling drops from all around and merging them into a single, floating mass of water. Once it was about five feet tall, he began mentally shaping it until it formed a humanoid contour; particularly, a female with a small frame.

Peter turned his eyes to Claire, smiling innocently for the first time.

“No,” he said, not peeling his eyes from hers. “This is the power.”

Instantly, the entire water mass froze into a shining ice sculpture. Claire covered her hand with her mouth, approaching the masterpiece that was exactly her height.

“It’s…me.”

Peter casually leaned his elbow against the shoulder of his creation, smiling with slight arrogance at his handiwork.

“Save the cheerleader, save the world,” he explained, and Claire noticed that not only did he make her, but she was posed hands-on-hips in her Union Wells cheerleading outfit.

“I haven’t worn that outfit in a month. How do you even remember what it looks like?” she asked, amazed, and reaching out to touch her own water-glass hair.

“I remember everything,” Peter said frankly. “Like it’s my own name. I guess it’s another power from Gabriel. I just started to notice it recently, but it’s gotten stronger.”

“Gabriel? Who’s that?”

“I gave the killer a name,” Peter shrugged.

“That’s an awfully God-like thing to do,” muttered Claire, beginning to match his surly mood. Peter seemed to have nothing to say, so Claire changed the subject.

“Er…where are we gonna put it?” she scratched her head, gesturing towards her frozen likeness.

Peter laughed in disbelief. “Put her? I didn’t plan on keeping it.”

Claire gaped at him. “You have to, Peter; this is incredible!”

He shrugged again. “I can do it any time I want.”

That wasn’t the point though. He just couldn’t get her point, which Claire disturbingly noticed wasn’t like Peter. It wasn’t what it was that was so dear to Claire; it was the fact that the first thing he had thought to form out of the elements was her. Peter had just made her, except it was a pure and icily clean portrait, with no weights on its shoulders and no crow’s feet on its eyes.

But to prove his point, like he always felt he needed to, Peter touched the sculpture, and with a tilt of his head, the whole thing melted into slush at Claire’s feet. She kneeled down beside it, picking up a handful of former beauty, and feeling like she had just lost something beloved to her. Which, really, she had. Peter’s unplanned gift was destroyed.

“Let’s go inside,” he heaved, a tinge of sourness back in his voice, which Claire hoped was not caused by her slightly foolish affection towards the sculpture. His hand was extended in front of her, ready to help her up. Still the gentleman even when he wasn’t in the best of moods. Typical Peter.

She reluctantly picked her now soaked knees off of the ground, grabbing his hand and hauling herself up. Peter caught the forlorn in her eyes and his heart softened, disposition shape shifting once again. How could someone just change moods like that? He was literally brooding one second, and caring the next. It was the first sign that Claire, looking back on it, wished she could have recognized. The soon to be fallen angel was just starting walking the line now, before he’d launch the journey; teetering between heaven and hell where one push could lead to eternal damnation.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, in the voice that stayed up with her and talked, made her breakfast, protected her. “I’ll make you something else later, and I promise you can keep it.”

Claire snorted lightly. “Won’t it melt?”

“Maybe not,” he replied optimistically. “I’m trying to figure out how to get stuff to stay frozen, but it might take a while.”

“Whatever,” murmured Claire, her mind not on the conversation at all. She brushed past him and Peter sighed, following, feeling more defeated then he had all day.

What miseries we can bring ourselves.

Claire was a vengeful person. She hated admitting it to herself, but the fact was unavoidable. The thing is, the world would blow it off, assuming that this was just because she was a teenage girl. But Claire knew better. She knew that she had exacted revenge on her little brother when he tore off the heads on her Barbie dolls. She knew that she had the full intent of killing Brody Mitchum after he tried to rape her (and how no one had even suspected a murder attempt was beyond her). And even though she was growing to love Peter like a best friend, an ulcer pulsed to get back at him for his tartness.

Thoughts and heart merged together, telling her not to do anything to trouble Peter. Claire’s inner, raw nature was too overpowering, though. It was the magnet that drew her right into the kitchen, where he was on the phone with the pizza guy; it pulled her feet to the fridge, and her fingertips to the torn picture of Charles Deveaux; finally, it strummed out five words on her vocal chords that she’d cringe right after hearing.

“Who’s on the other half?”

Peter’s brow shot up at her question, but he composed himself enough to silence her with his index finger, finishing out the delivery order. When he hung up his cell phone, she asked again.

She already knew the answer, of course; that wasn’t what interested her. The answer was an old wound, and Claire’s devilish side was delightfully pouring salt into it.

He covered better than she’d anticipated, though. “It was someone I didn’t know. I only wanted Charles in it, so I tore it.”

“Who in their right mind does that?” Claire mocked. She was collapsing on the inside, begging herself to stop while she was ahead, but all self-control over her snappy tongue had vanished. Peter frowned at her, his fragile good mood beginning to splinter.

“What is this, 20 Questions? Why do you care?” he snapped, not meaning about half of the harsh decibels that came out.

“I find it really weird that you’re keeping secrets like this,” Claire retaliated, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. Peter glared at her in disdain.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, trying to sum up Matt Parkman’s mind reading abilities. Only a few words buzzed in his ear from Claire’s mind, but it was enough.

“If you knew it was Simone, why did you ask?” he asked, voice cracking in the middle in bewilderment.

Claire’s friendship with the man standing before her finally beat down her envious need for a settling of scores. Her face softened, and she daintily placed Peter’s photograph back on the fridge. His piercing gaze was trying to pull her apart, she was certain of it.

“I-I…I’m sorry. That was nosy, I shouldn’t have…”

Peter approached her, and for the first time, Claire felt his close proximity awkward rather than comforting. He lightly touched her elbow, but she still would not look at him; she was too ashamed by her childish habit.

“Is something wrong? That wasn’t like you,” he said uneasily, abandoning his prior anger.

Yeah, now you know how it feels, Claire thought bluntly. Peter, unbeknownst to her, heard this statement and reeled back in understanding.

“Oh, God, I never even,” he groaned, pressing his fingers to one of his temples. Claire stole a look at him, dread sinking in.

“You just read my mind?”

Peter nodded absently, reflecting on the past few hours. His heart had undergone an unusual chill, and he had barely noticed how distant he’d treated Claire. No wonder she was so curt…Peter swallowed firmly and was ready to face the consequences of his actions.

“I’m really sorry. About my bad mood earlier today, that is,” he told her truthfully. “So I guess I kinda deserved that.” Peter nodded towards the photo on his fridge. Claire’s cheeks were beginning to pinken.

“No you didn’t,” muttered Claire, feeling much too guilty to meet his eyes. “I was being stupid. It’s this thing that happens whenever I get mad.”

“You turn into Cheerleader Hulk?”

Claire giggled lightly. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. Except without the clothes ripping.”

Peter ‘heh’ed under his breath and Claire noticed his olive skin slightly reddening. Her eyes widened for a split second. No way is he blushing; she smirked to herself, quickly masking the thought with uncontrollable laughter in case he was listening in.

“I…uh, wasn’t sure what you liked on your pizza, so I just ordered cheese,” Peter said, after clearing his throat diffidently.

“Oh, good,” Claire smiled, relieved to have something good to eat rather than Peter’s crappy lasagna. They both stood there for a couple moments, unsure of where to go from there.

Peter moistened his lips. “If I’m ever acting like a jerk again just…tell me, okay?”

“I will. And if I’m every really weird like that-,

“I’ll know that I’ve done something wrong.”

Claire rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “That’s…not what I was going to say, but...”

“I’ll snap you out of it,” Peter assured her, catching her drift. Claire’s expression was bright, even among the melodramatic dialogue being exchanged between them. She winked at him to lighten the mood.

“And for future reference, I like ham on my pizza.”