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

Chapter Seven

“Friends Only”

Peter Petrelli and Claude Raines

The Deveaux Building

One month ago, Peter’s heart flipped every time he saw Simone Deveaux.

Today, it tightened so taut, implosion would not have come as a shock. Funny, as explosion was the problem he should have been dealing with.

Peter jerked his head firmly towards the cracked glass doors, but Claude stood stone like. The British man gestured towards the misty eyed raven leaning on the rooftop’s edge.

“You can’t run from her forever,” Claude said in a low murmur. “I’m sick of hearing you bitch on about it for one thing, and until you confront her, you’ll never be able to put the past behind you.”

Peter had an inkling that his mentor’s moral scales were more heavily tipped in the direction of Claude’s general annoyance then Peter’s well-being. Nevertheless, he had to be of the same mind. Until he talked to Simone himself, he’d never be able to fully rid his life of her. There’d always be that regret, that plague, itching in an unscratchable part of his soul.

Taking a deep breath, Peter materialized with ease into the visible spectrum. The invisibility he’d mastered; after spending so much time with a unique, one-sided character like Claude, it was no difficulty fishing out his feelings for his mentor. The power he’d had most trouble with was, surprisingly, his own brother. Not since that day at the café had Peter come even close to flying; not even hovering. But even though Nate was kin, it still sort of made sense to Peter. He’s a politician, always has been at heart, he reminded himself. Nathan changes personalities as often as he changes ties.

He bluntly announced his entrance. “Simone.”

The young woman whipped her head around, taking in the sight for sore eyes in front of her. She exhaled, shaking, and threw her arms around his neck before he could push her away.

“Oh, Peter!” she cried, her long nails poking him though his thick cashmere trench. “Where have you been? I’ve been going out of my mind…they said you were dead!”

She pulled back, clutching his face in her slender hands. Those green eyes showed real concern, but just because she cared didn’t make her loyal. Peter managed to shrug out of her tight grasp and back a couple feet away from her, holding a palm in front of him in warning.

“Shouldn’t you be hugging Isaac now? He’s your hero now,right?” he asked bitterly. Simone gaped, and for a moment, Peter felt like he had possibly made a false accusation. But the guilt flashed across her face, and a shiver coursed down her frame, confirming Peter’s assumptions. Then again, he had solid proof, didn’t he? He saw them with his own two eyes, cuddling on the rooftop together. Even if he’d forgotten this incident, he still could not have banished Claude’s taunting from his memory.

“Well,” Peter sighed. “At least you’re not denying it; then you’d be wasting even more of my time.”

Simone steeled herself. “I admit, I’ve gotten closer to Isaac since he’s gotten clean, but it’s not like that. We’re not like…us.”

Guess I spoke too soon, Peter thought flatly.

“Oh, so that little scene you had up here last week was all in the name of…friendliness, huh?” he found himself retorting back, satisfaction at being right over and over again.

He didn’t need to be a mutant to have a power over Simone at that moment, and it engulfed his senses in pleasure to see her uncomfortable. His conscience later squirmed at his contentment of verbally sparring another person, but he talked himself out of it. She deserves this. She. Deserves. ALL of this. If he couldn’t hit a female, gentleman that he was, he could at least guilt-trip the hell out of her.

“Are you spying on me?” Simone’s brow furrowed, contorting her delicate features.

“I should reply with ‘Are you cheating on me?’, but you know what?” Peter clapped his hands together once. “I don’t care anymore. You’re never gonna understand what’s happening to me. What I have to do. I’ve wanted a destiny since the day I was born, and now I’ve found it. And sorry, but, I’m pretty sure you don’t have any role in it.”

He turned to walk away, to leave her stung, but surprisingly, she fought to get him to listen. Grabbing his shoulder, she whipped him around, the closeness allowing him to see her eyes glistening.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, rubbing his broad shoulders. “I-I didn’t know what happened to you, and Isaac is the only one I have left, and things just started happening…”

Peter sensed that Simone’s cool poise could no longer hold itself up, and he gladly took the weakness as an opportunity.

“I’ve got bigger problems, Simone. An apology doesn’t do anything for me right now.”

“By bigger problems I assume you mean that you’re blowing up New York? Isaac’s paintings say so,” Simone replied softly, wanting to put their tangled relationship aside for the time being. It was what she thought Peter wanted to talk about, but she was proven incorrect.

“So now you do believe he can paint the future?”

“This isn’t about him,” snapped Simone, regaining her normally icy persona. “It’s about you. If you’re as dangerous as we all think you are, including yourself, then you don’t need to be running around missing for a week and a half! You wanna be a hero? Stay with us, we can help you!”

“I have help,” replied Peter sardonically. “Besides, Isaac can change the future remember? Isn’t that what you told him?”

He knew he was being a complete hypocrite by not letting the subject go, but the contempt was more uncontrollable than his ability to fly. Simone crossed her arms across her chest.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she rolled her eyes.

“Ridiculous? Yeah, normally, that “Isaac and I are bonded by trauma” excuse might be able to cover your ass. But you never loved me, not even in the beginning.”

“How can you sa-!”

Peter silenced her. “You’ve never said it to me, have you? I never really noticed until I got to thinking about it, and that’s when it hit me that…every time we parted, I’d tell you that I loved you. You would tell me goodbye. I get it, I was the rebound guy. I knew that much all along, but I didn’t care. I thought that maybe it would all work out. I could win a woman for the first time in my life. For once, not losing her to Nathan, or some friend. But I guess I was wrong again,” he continued on his rant. “And after thinking…maybe I never loved you at all either. I was young back then, I didn’t know better.”

“What has happened to you?” spat Simone, shaking her head in disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Peter? The one that yes, I did love.”

“Or pitied,” murmured Peter before relying to her properly. “I’ve grown up, Simone,” he shrugged, holding his arms wide for her to fully inspect the new, more mature model. “And now I’m ready to save the world. The only thing that you’ve ever done right for me is getting me that painting so I could go save Claire.”

“You used me, then? So how dare you accuse me of doing the same to you! And that day I got you the painting, you promised me that you would come back,” she blurted out brokenly.

Peter arched an eyebrow. “I have come back.”

“No, you haven’t. I don’t know what’s up with you right now, if this is just a phase, but you left a part of yourself in that coma. You’re not the same, and you can’t just tell me that you’ve ‘grown up.’ Where’s the good, caring person I used to know?”

“You don’t deserve to see him,” Peter said quietly, deciding that the conversation here was done. With one last disdainful look, he materialized into thin air.

“My father would be disappointed in you, Peter,” Simone choked out, not sure if he was even there anymore. He heard her, but made no reply. They were the only words she had said to him so far that he could not bring himself to deride.

Simone still felt his presence on the rooftop, and she hastily rushed into the greenhouse and down the interior stairs. Peter leaned thoughtfully against a pigeon cage, as Claude patted him on the shoulder from behind.

“Well done, mate! I didn’t know you had that kind of moxy in you!”

Peter sniffed back, sensible mind catching up with his wicked tongue and anger. His whole goal was to put Simone behind him, but it seemed as though he had just brought her back into his life. His Mr. Hyde of sorts had also taken over for the second time that week. He’d never been a rageful man, but this shadow-colored version of himself was becoming disturbingly frequent.

“Go away, Claude,” he said bluntly, having the sudden urge to unleash his emotions in a way that Claude would never permit.

“Excuse me? You can’t kick me out of my own home!”

“You said yourself that you don’t live up here,” Peter retaliated coolly. “Now leave me alone.”

A stander-by could have sensed a mildly electronic tone to Peter’s voice when he repeated his request with more force. To the shock of even Peter himself, Claude stiffened, turned on his heel, and headed towards the door.

Peter frowned slightly at Claude’s abrupt obedience. He’d been sure that his need for solitude would be declined by the older man. Petrelli shrugged. Perhaps his natural good charm was starting to affect Claude as well.

Or former charm, Peter corrected himself, as that would probably be more fitting to his current state. The crazy thing was, Peter didn’t feel himself being possessed by some overwhelming power whenever these bouts of fury came. He was in total control, making every decision, even if some were more reckless then choices in his usual state of mind. He’d not been consumed by shade, but instead his heart was lacking the care it used to harbor for other people. With the forced toughness he had to bear, it would be suicide not to feel any other way. Sensitive men were always the first statues to crumble; glass couldn’t hold up next to stone.

Making sure that Claude had indeed left the rooftop, Peter delicately opened one of the pigeon cages. A plump bird in the middle, which Peter secretly called Lewis, hooted first. He would never tell Claude that he had names for all the pigeons. Claude probably couldn’t even tell them all apart, let alone give them identities.

The young man removed the cooing bird and held it to his chest, stroking the grey feathers on Lewis’s head. He could be gentle with the mindless animal; it had never, and could never do him any wrong. This realization opened his mind to a new understanding about Claude. People suck, friend. Every last one of them, never forget it.

“Not all of them,” Peter had replied defensively, thinking of Simone, sticking up for her.

Claude scoffed. “Oh, so there’s a girl?”

“She’s not like the rest of them.”

Peter set Lewis down on the rooftop edge, sighing. Claude had hit the nail on the head, and it had taken him this long to respect the hermit’s sensible opinions. In the past, Peter had always just assumed that the old man was bitter at being stuck invisible 24/7…

Of course, Claude was still astringent. There was one time, only one, where Claude had actually talked about his past (he’d, obviously, taken a few too many beers out of Peter’s fridge that night).

Peter used Claude’s invisibility at leisure, but he hadn’t stopped and thought about how torturous it must have been for his mentor to wake up every morning totally alone.

Telekinetically floating all the pigeons out of harms way, Peter thought it was safe enough to go about on his frenzy. There would be no power usesage; Peter kicked and punched and yelled at the empty cage with sheer brute force. The birds were instantly frightened by the noise and began to fly off, until Peter was the only thing living up on the rooftop.

This was what Simone was to him. The Deveaux Building, he thought bitterly. He could never hurt her with his touch, so this was as close as it was going to get.

The cage would be far from destroyed; Peter couldn’t rip apart iron and wood just with his bare hands. Then again, his goal was not to destroy…it was to beat out his resentment until he burned out. Punches turned to full out blows, his fists ripping through the wire mesh, leaving souvenirs all up his arms.

He blocked out all thoughts of Claire and her power from his clouded mind, so his digits bled unchecked. A few minutes in, and his face was sticky with angry tears he hadn’t even known were pouring from brooding eyes. After what seemed like an eternity of metal biting into his skin and the hard oak beams bruising his legs, Peter collapsed onto the rooftop.

Breaths came harshly, leaving his body faster then he could take them in. It’s not just Simone, he amended weakly. It’s Nathan, the deal, Claude, Gabriel, me exploding, Claire’s real father, Isaac, saving the world…it’s too much for one person…

Get up, his steel core ordered. You want to be a hero, but if you get washed out from this you’ll never make it.

This part of his cerebrum had persuasive powers all its own. Peter didn’t even bother to heal himself or catch his breath before standing stiffly and walking in the footsteps of Claude and Simone.

He’d finally grown a backbone (one that was coincidentally indestructible); no longer fearing to speak his mind, express his inner conflicts. Maybe it was too much of Claude’s influence, or because his days were numbered.

Whatever the reason, Dr.Jekyll was starting to like it.

Claire Bennet and Peter

Peter’s Apartment

Luckily, Peter reluctantly left Claire home alone, so there’d be no interrogation from someone who wasn’t in the loop.

Claire’s fiery exclamations would be bad enough.

“Peter, what happened?” she cried straight away, standing up from the red loveseat.

Peter slowly closed the door behind him. Barbed wire hooked into his skin, even through his trench coat, and maroon stains of dried blood were splattered across his sleeves and knuckles. Even in the dim light, Claire could still make out the metallic scent of blood and the bruise on Peter’s temple.

“Bad day with Claude,” he mumbled, hoping that would satisfy her. What was the use? He knew Claire’s concerned, and slightly nosy heart would stop him in his tracks until he gave her the full truth.

“No way,” Claire shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “Claude’s strict, but he’s not sadistic.” She strode over to him and took a closer look.

“This is insane, what did you do?!”

“Nothing!” Peter yelled back, ripping his arm out of her grasp, wincing.

“Well, why isn’t it healing? I’m here; it should at least be healing now!”

“Because I’m…you wouldn’t understand,” Peter rolled his eyes, taking off his trench coat carefully and hanging it on the rack.

Before he could head into his bedroom to sulk in self-pity, Claire put both hands on his chest and shoved him into one of his recliners. His eyes widened, stunned at her vigor. She’d never pushed him before, but in the back of his mind, Peter sensed that this was probably for his own good.

“You told me to tell you when you’re being a jerk, so I’m telling you,” Claire growled, as she began to viciously rip out the shards of cable from his arms. Peter cried out in pain with every slick pull of metal that was torn out of his skin.

It seemed heartless to Peter, but Claire’s very present compassion was writhing with what she was doing to him. It really was one of the hardest things she’d done in a long time, to be forceful with him…to make him scream in pain. She took not an ounce of pleasure in it, but Claire knew it was the only way to prove to a broken man that she meant business.

The holes cascading down Peter’s limbs sealed up from Claire’s presence rather than Peter’s will to heal them. The large purple knot on his forehead and long since recovered as well. Within moments, he looked unscathed, but still unstable.

Claire kneeled by him, turning back to her gentle self. “You did this, didn’t you? To yourself?”

“No,” Peter snapped too quickly. Off Claire’s annoyed look, he added, “Not really.”

“What, did you run into ‘Gabriel’ or something?”

“No, nothing like that-,”

“Then what was it?”

“Nothing!”

“It’s not nothing!” Claire exclaimed, irritated. “You don’t come home looking like you just got hit by a car when it’s nothing, Peter!”

Peter saw the concern, frustration, and fear mixed in her eyes and he felt ashamed for being so distant and stubborn. He was all the poor girl had; no wonder she was so scared whenever he got hurt. If something happened to him, Claire would be lonelier than Claude.

He stood up in front of her and wrapped her into a strong embrace. Claire inhaled for a moment, enjoying the feel of his lean muscles cocooning her body.

“I’m sorry,” Peter breathed into her hair. “Things have just been really tough for me lately-,”

Claire pulled herself out of his arms. “Yeah, well, you know what? You’re not the only one with problems here. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I’d like to remind you that my dad, my own dad, has been erasing the minds of my family. My house burnt down, someone’s trying to kill me, I’ve gone through hell and back feeling like a freak because of this power…I still don’t know who my real dad is and the only person I thought I could trust is starting to crack on me. Don’t do this to me. I can’t handle it, Peter.”

Peter didn’t even blink for several seconds after Claire’s outburst. The only sound in the room was of the ceiling fan, and Claire’s heaving chest.

“I…,” Peter began, still having no clue what to say. Thankfully, Claire talked for him

“I know I can’t relate to what you’re going though, but I can understand. Just like you…you can’t know what it feels like to be me, but you comprehend it too,” whispered Claire. “I know you get me. You’re the only person like us that I can talk to, and seeing as Nathan and Isaac aren’t on your good side, I’d say I’m the only other special person that you can talk to. If you don’t tell me, it’s gonna build up inside until you explode from it all.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Peter muttered, reminded of the impending apocalypse. “I get your point though, and I’ll tell you what happened.”

He kept his promise, going into detail about the conversation with Simone, and all the fury that had been held back all his life blasting its wrath upon the rooftop. When he described how the barbs had gotten caught in his skin, she reached out and squeezed his hand. It was a gesture that Peter had gotten used to, but for some reason, his mind went blank with her touch.

“And then what?” she asked, leaning forward. “After you trashed the cage, what happened?”

“Uh…,” Peter stammered. God her skin is soft, he thought before he could control himself. Her golden fingers were entwined with his, thumb idly stroking the top of his hand. With every caress of her fingertip, Peter felt his chest growing tighter and his brain losing focus.

What the hell is wrong with me? His right mind asked indignantly. It’s just Claire, for God’s sake. Just. Claire. The teenage girl that you’re supposed to be protecting. She doesn’t need a boyfriend, she needs a bodyguard. And saving the world is a little bit more important then obsessing over how soft a girl’s skin is.

Even if it’s got to be the smoothest skin in the world. Honestly, how does she do it?

“Peter,” Claire’s eyes flashed in alarm. “Are you okay?”

Peter looked up at her, right into her olive eyes, which he’d come to regret. Deep pools of worried green…that natural blonde hair just cascading down her shoulders. There are hardly any natural blondes anymore…

“Yeah,” he lied, halfheartedly wrenching his hand out of her silken grasp and burying his head in his own calloused palms. “I just, uh, had a brain lapse I guess.”

“It’s getting late,” Claire noted, standing up and brushing her now sweaty hands on her jeans. “You’re getting hungry, aren’t you?”

Peter nodded silently, still not daring to look her in the eyes for fear of more spontaneous, illegal thoughts. Not illegal, actually, he reminded himself, recalling something from that useless Harvard law degree. Seventeen is legal in this state, so it’s perfectly lawful-

No. No. No. No. It doesn’t matter what the law says. She’s the cheerleader, you’re Peter Petrelli. The world doesn’t work that way. Plus, she’s barely legal, you’re twenty-six, and the last the she needs is for her caretaker to make a pass at her. You will never think of her in That Way again.

Claire turned to go into the kitchen, but she slowly spun back around.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Peter wondered what he should say to that query.

“Depending on what it’s about, yes,” he replied carefully.

“It’s about the rooftop.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Peter breathed in relief.

Claire took a step forward towards him. “You said you were fed up with all this stuff that’s happening. Like it’s too much, and you couldn’t control yourself. You just started hitting things out of the blue.”

Peter bobbed his head up in down in agreement to the half-truths he had told her, for her own well-being.

“I want to know…is it gone now? The anger?”

“You’re afraid it’s going to occur again,” stated Peter plainly. Claire nodded.

“I can’t promise it won’t,” Peter admitted. “But I can promise you that I would never even think of hurting you. Ever.”

It was a vow spoken from his heart, rather then…the other regions of his body that had possessed his thought process a while before. His voice did not falter when he made this pledge to her, for he didn’t even have to convince himself to keep it. There was no way, even from way back at Homecoming, that Peter could ever lay a hand on her.

“I know,” she concurred breezily. Claire flushed in the dark kitchen doorway. She could practically feel Peter’s warm smile upon her skin.

And that’s when Peter made a mental note of the number one reason why even thinking of crossing the thin line with Claire was forbidden.

She’s the only thing I have left, and it would kill me to scare her away.

Mohinder Suresh

Brooklyn

For an attorney turned politician, for a man with diploma from Harvard, and for a man with the respect of most of the city…Nathan Petrelli really was an idiot.

Mohinder couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before, but he supposed he had the dim lighting in his apartment to blame. But Nathan, Nathan had no excuse. And even if the shark had a doubt in his mind about what he was supposed to do, he could have just asked Peter. After all, the young man was willing!

Nathan’s blunder wouldn’t cost him an election, like most of them; this little mix-up could destroy New York. All that destruction for a….

Tapping his fingers impatiently on his computer desk, Mohinder waited for Nathan to pick up his cell. After six rings, Mohinder dryly expected elevatoresque hold music to begin. “Nathan Petrelli loves that you are interested in calling him, but he is busy at the moment. Please hold, and don’t forget to vote Petrelli!”

But nothing of the such happened. When Mohinder was about to hang up and call Peter, Nathan finally hit “Talk.”

“Hello, Doctor Suresh?”

“Yes, Nathan,” Mohinder said, trying to contain his irritation.

“Oh, so we’re on a first name basis now, are we?”

Mohinder chose to ignore him. “There’s something important about the cure that I have to talk to you about.”

Nathan sat up in his comfy recliner, holding the phone more delicately in his fingers. “The cure…you found it?”

“No,” replied Mohinder bluntly. “Let me ask you something…”

There was a pause, and Nathan listened expectantly for Mohinder to continue.

“Since when is your brother a blonde?”

Claire Bennet

Peter’s Apartment

After dinner, Peter decided to take a long shower to wash off the blood on his skin, as well as the pain of the day. Claire secretly felt a tad lonely for the hour or so she heard the water running. She’d been cooped up totally by herself in this stupid apartment all day, and now was definitely not a good moment for her to have thinking time.

What was that all about? He’s obviously lying about something. God, why can’t he just tell me the whole truth! Claire was frustrated, hurt, and exhausted after their second fight in twenty-four hours. What’s the matter with us…we were getting along so well and now we keep fighting like animals…

Thankfully, “Ain’t No Other Man” started playing from her pocket, and Claire immediately recognized it as her neutral ringtone. All her friends had particular ringtones assigned to them, so she knew even before she looked at the Sidekick’s screen that it was probably someone she didn’t want to talk to.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK.

212-552-1145

There was only one person in New York who had her number: Nathan Petrelli. Being that Claire didn’t favor the man much in real life, she definitely didn’t want to talk to him on the phone. Why was he calling her anyway? Couldn’t he just give Peter a ring on his phone? Peter had no home phone-that’s why he was unlisted in the phone book, Claire grasped absently- but his own brother certainly would know the cell number, right?

Claire let it go to voicemail, and reminded herself to tell Peter about it later.