Chapter Ten

“Forgive Me Father…”

Matt Parkman and Claire Bennet

New York Streets, Lower East Side

Matt hailed a taxi easier then he’d expected, and within minutes of leaving Peter’s apartment, both he and Claire were on their way to Isaac’s. Having been interrupted by the brawling Petrelli brothers, Matt never got the chance to explain to Claire what had happened to Mr.Bennet. Judging by her firestorm of clouded and emotional thoughts at the moment, he decided that it could wait.

They sat in the back of the yellow cab in mournful silence, and Matt gave Claire privacy in her feelings.  In turn, she did the same, not bothering him about how often he winced and clutched his chest on the ride there. Whatever Peter had done was still having after effects on Matt. Though he’d come out of it okay, the next couple days would be full of wincing and Bayer.

A few lonely tears made their way down Claire’s sun-kissed cheeks, and she wiped them away crossly. No. She cried much too often. No more crying, she had to be strong. She was alone now, no one to protect her, and she had to toughen up.

Out of all the people in the world, she never suspected that it would be Peter that would abandon her. Technically, she was the one who fled the apartment and left without telling him where she was going…but had it not been for his sudden recklessness and pure sin, she wouldn’t have had to. He was no longer Peter, her Peter, her hero. He was a hollow, broken snakeskin. A shell of himself. The only thing living inside was the malice that had been building in his heart for the last twenty-six years.

Claire remembered wondering what he did with all of his angry feelings, or if he was prone to them at all. God, why had she kept this muse to herself? Why hadn’t she tried to help him more, rather then scold him into surrender? There were so many opportunities. She hadn’t tried hard enough to get him to open up to her. Sure, he’d push her away, but true friends ignore the comrade’s wants, for their companion’s needs instead. Peter needed a loving hand to pull him out of the sticky tar pit he was sinking into. All Claire had done was stand by the sidelines and yell at him to save himself.

You’re the only thing keeping me level-headed right now, he’d told her, barely half an hour ago. What a lie. Or perhaps not a lie…but something he was saying to talk himself into it. To convince himself that as long as Claire was around, he could control himself. Clearly, he didn’t find himself particularly persuasive.

Normally, Matt would have soothingly asked Claire if she wanted to talk about it, but reading her mind exposited that no, she actually didn’t. Instead, he simply placed a consoling hand on her shoulder and she did not shrug away. Poor girl. First her dad, now her hero. I’m really gonna hate telling her about where Bennet is…

The Petrelli Brothers

Peter’s Apartment, Lower East Side

I know my hero’s still in there….

Peter saw everything in slow motion. Claire grabbing her things, before kneeling down and kissing his cheek and forehead, choking out her goodbye. The brush of her lips on his skin numbed his entire body even more, making it impossible to reach out and stop her, call her name, anything that would halt her from leaving him. As soon as he saw Claire and Parkman walk out that door, he gave up the fight, and let himself slip away into black.

When he finally reawakened, he felt more refreshed then one probably should after being clubbed on the head with a glass bottle. Peter probably had his empathetic mimicry and Claire’s spontaneous cellular regeneration to thank for that. Sitting up, he saw the irony in the whole situation. Here he sat, after being knocked out and beat up, and he felt ten times less tired then before Matt and Nathan arrived.

But…he did feel emptier. Something was missing. Or someone. Or…two someones? Peter’s senses felt short-circuited and dead, with dual benefactors yanked out of his closeness at the same time.

The young empath spotted motionless legs sticking out from behind a couch. There had been three people with him, not two. And since Matt and Claire had left, there was only one person it could be.

“Nathan?” Peter husked, his throat parched. He crawled over to the thin body, and it was indeed his older brother. Nathan was still unconscious from slamming into the wall, but Peter thankfully observed no blood on his sibling’s crown.

“Nathan,” he gasped, lightly shaking his brother by the shoulders. “C’mon, Nathan. Nathan, wake up.”

The politician’s eyelids fluttered open, and the first thing he did was grab the back of his head in pain, groaning. Peter, back to his normal persona which happened to be a nurse, put a hand on Nathan’s back and helped him sit upright.

Nathan looked up and saw his floppy haired brother staring back, then scooted away from Peter almost immediately. Peter frowned back, hurt, but he knew that Nathan had every good reason in the book to keep a distance between them.

“What the hell have you done?” Nathan snarled, his fear still leaving his irateness in tact.

Peter’s dark eyes were glazed. “I-I dunno. Claire…she left, though.” He was ranting incomprehensibly now; the only words that Nathan could make out were ‘Claire,’ ‘gone,’ and ‘scare.’

“Listen,” Nathan said, clearing his throat and approaching Peter a little closer. “Calm down, take a deep breath. She’ll be fine. She’s probably with Parkman.”

Peter scowled indignantly. “Fine? Fine?! I’m the one that’s supposed to be protecting her! Me! She’s not safe alone, and I don’t trust Matt, and now I have no idea where they’ve gone, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’s real safe with you, Peter; look what you just did!”

“I would never hurt her,” Peter gritted out. “You punched me! What was I supposed to do, stand there?”

“What about Parkman? You said he left with Claire, so he must not have gotten knocked out. How’d they escape?”

“I,” Peter began, when guilt began to creep into the valves of his heart. “Claire hit me on the head with something.” He glanced over to the spot where he’d fallen unconscious and saw a broken bottle of wine. “A wine bottle, I guess.”

“How’d she do that?” Nathan peered into his brothers blameworthy features. “What were you doing, Pete?”

Peter hesitated. “Killing Matt Parkman,” he replied softly, looking to the floor. Nathan sighed and rested himself against the back of the couch.

“You almost killed him? What were you thinking? How could you do that?”

“I don’t know!” snapped Peter, his eyes glowing with panic. Out of all the terrible things he’d done in the last couple days, this was the first time he actually regretted something. Tearing apart rooftops and fighting back was one thing. Almost killing a defenseless man was another. That’s why he was so remorseful…Matt was exposed and vulnerable. It was an unjust murder attempt. Peter wasn’t so sorry about the near death…after all; Matt had set himself up for a fight. No, Peter was apologetic for the injustice. Even when he was doing something cold like slaying, Peter still had the inner nobleness of a hero.

“You shouldn’t go after her,” Nathan advised. “You’re dangerous, she doesn’t need that, and YOU still have a job to do.”

“If you’re talking about that stupid cure…”

“As a matter of fact I am. We need you for this. There’s no exploding man, there’s no apocalypse. It’s all in your head. You need help, Peter,” Nathan rested a hand on his little brother’s shoulder before Peter viciously shrugged out of his reach.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Peter muttered. “Claire’s gone. I have to find her.”

“You have no idea where to look!” cried Nathan exasperated at being ignored. Peter was already pulling on his black cashmere trench coat. He stared at his brother with a fierce determination that Nathan had never seen before in Peter.

“I think I have a hunch.”

Isaac Mendez, Simone Deveaux, Matt and Claire

Isaac’s Studio, Manhattan

All that Matt had told Claire about Isaac Mendez was his name, and that he was a prophetic artist. From these tidbits, Claire had formed a mental image of what she suspected he was like: a crazy old Latino man that barely spoke any English, covered in paint, and hearing disembodied voices. To her astonishment, Isaac was anything but that. Well, he was covered in paint, but only on his hands. And rather then him being incomprehensible and eighty, Isaac couldn’t have been older then thirty, with a low, sultry, barely-there accent that was hard to place. Needless to say, it was a pleasant surprise on Claire’s part.

What was not a pleasant surprise was a guest that had decided to stop by Isaac’s that morning: Simone Deveaux. Claire would not be outwardly mean to the woman, for that would be rude, but her stomach boiled with anger at what Simone had done to Peter.

“You were talking to me about my dad,” Claire reminded Matt a few minutes after they arrived at the loft. Matt looked distinctly uncomfortable and said that she better sit down. Claire awkwardly looked around, trying to find a chair amidst all the clutter. Isaac noted this and sheepishly grabbed a stool from behind a stack of canvases, handing it over to her.

:”He’s…still alive and everything, right?” Claire whispered, afraid for the worst. Matt’s eyes were pained. He was clearly having a rough time breaking this bombshell.

“I’m pretty sure, for now that is. When we were tracking Sylar…well, Sylar got to us first. He kidnapped your dad two days ago, and I have no idea where they’ve gone. Bennet told me that if anything like this was to happen, I was to come to Isaac. He can paint the future, so he can probably paint your dad’s whereabouts.”

Claire barely heard the last of Matt’s words. Her father was in the clutches of the worst possible person; a murderer, a psycho, and perhaps even a cannibal. A super powered psychotic murdering cannibal.

“I’ve been having trouble though,” admitted Isaac quietly. “Lately…the future keeps getting closer. I used to paint things that would happen in seven, eight weeks. Then it became a week or less, and now, I’m painting things seconds before they happen. I’m afraid that by the time I paint your father, we may be too late. However…”

That one little word made Claire pick her eyes off the floor and look at Isaac again, hope spearing into her heart. Isaac was rummaging through several canvases, many of which Claire realized were of her, before pulling out a small black and white piece.

It was her father, handcuffed and slumped against a grimy wooden wall. The room he was in was impossible to locate, but it gave her a little piece of mind that he probably was still alive.

“I’m going to try to find the tracking system,” announced Matt. “With it, I can find Sylar, and wherever he is, your Dad is.”

“Tracking system?” Simone piped for the first time. “They’re tracking you?”

“What do you know about the system?” Claire ignored Simone, frowning at Matt’s wording. Parkman rubbed his neck.

“Honestly…not that much. It’s in this city somewhere, and it’ll be tough to get past security, but I think-,”

“No,” Claire said sternly, shaking her head. “We need something quicker. Someone we know that can find Sylar.”

“I could try painting him,” suggested Isaac.

“Yeah, but none of us know what he looks like,” Claire pointed out. “I only saw him in the shadows.”

“Me too,” grumbled Matt, and Isaac didn’t mention that he’d never seen Sylar in person.

“Isaac could do it,” replied Simone with an offended bite in her voice, lightly stroking Isaac’s forearm. Claire looked away.

“But…,” added Claire suddenly in recall. “Peter’s seen Sylar up close. And he’s been acting really touchy lately too. I think his power is letting him actually feel other people like us.”

“Hell no!” Matt barked, making Claire jump. The force of his outburst caused him to wince and massage the center of his chest where his heart was still sensitive. “I still have the aches to prove that the guy isn’t safe to be around.”

Isaac frowned. “Peter? He may be a bomb, but he’d never hurt anyone on purpose. He’s a nurse.”

Matt scoffed. “Whatever you say, homes. Claire was there. She can tell you all about what he did to me.”

Off Claire’s glistening, downcast eyes, Matt sighed and regretted bringing up the subject.

“He’s gonna come after me anyways,” murmured Claire, still audible in the dead silent loft. “You know he will. He’s crazy about protecting me. It’s one of the reasons he’s gotten so temperamental lately. He doesn’t know how to shift from Peter the Bodyguard to Normal Peter.”

“He has changed,” Simone agreed. “I talked to him on the roof the other day…I barely recognized him.”

Isaac placed a comforting hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here with us.”

Claire stood up, guiltily shrugging off Isaac’s palm. “No, I…I want him to find me. I don’t want to endanger either of you, really, but…God, it’s Peter. He…I don’t even know…”

She slumped against a table like dead weight, willing herself not to cry in front of these two strangers. Matt seemed to understand from her thoughts that Peter’s roots ran deep in Claire’s heart. Still, the main priority right now had to be getting her dad back.

Matt groaned. “I’m willing to go face first into a fight to save your Dad, Claire, but do you know what Sylar can do? He’s too powerful for all three of us combined. Isaac and I have these totally mundane abilities and yours is just defensive. We’d be idiots to go marching in there!”

“That’s another reason we need Peter,” Claire stated firmly. “Trust me, I can bring him back! All he needs is some guidance, and me. He told me that I help him control it.”

Simone and Isaac looked at each other apprehensively and Claire found herself pleading with the group of adults. Way to make yourself look grown up, Claire…

“Please, I have to save my father! And without Peter, we don’t stand a chance. He’s the only one strong enough to fend off Sylar-,”

“He is Sylar,” Matt quipped under his breath. “They’re both ruthless. We can’t trust him, I’m sorry.”

Claire moaned and rest her cheek on one of the various tables. There had to be a way…

The Petrelli Brothers

Canal Street, New York City

“What are you following me for, Nathan?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Nathan growled back, prompting Peter to roll his eyes.

“I’m not six, anymore, okay? I’m twenty-six. I can take care of myself.”

They were heading out of the front of the apartment building, and Nathan hadn’t left Peter’s proximity for more then three feet ever since he’d regained consciousness.

“You can’t take care of yourself!” retorted Nathan. “You almost just killed a man, you lost the girl you were supposed to be protecting, you haven’t given a single stray thought to my needs…and now we’re heading to Isaac’s, and you don’t even like him, so if I see him dead on the news, I wouldn’t be surprised..”

Peter bitterly turned around, grabbed Nathan by the lapels, and shoved him up against a harsh brick wall like Claude had done to him so many times.

“I’m heading to Isaac’s and I never asked you to tag along, now did I? Also, almost isn’t enough, Claire was taken, and your ‘needs’ are the least important thing on anyone’s list right now.” Nathan could feel Peter’s hot breath in his face as if a dragon had him pinned between concrete and horsepower.

Roughly releasing Nathan, Peter turned back around and continued down the street.

“I’m still following you,” Nathan snapped. Peter sauntered away, not looking back, as Nathan tried to find way to fly to Isaac’s without attracting attention. On a sunny New York day, it was impossible, and Nathan had to settle for the long walk ahead.

Isaac, Simone, Matt, and Claire

Isaac’s Loft, New York City

While Isaac and Simone were conversing lightly on the other side of the room, Matt had engrossed Claire into an emotional talk.

“It’s not just his abilities,” Claire confessed to him. “It’s that if I’m not there, he’ll only get worse. He will kill someone if we don’t help him right now. And I can’t see that. I can't bear to see him like…this…”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Matt asked understandingly, already knowing the answer.

“Feelings?” Claire’s face took on an aghast expression that was too over-the-top to be sincere. Matt cocked his head and Claire’s face fell.

“Is it that obvious?” she sighed. Matt smiled back.

“It is when you’re a mind reader.”

Claire looked at him thoughtfully before speaking. “I’m not sure how I feel, really. I’ve always felt something that I probably shouldn’t for him, but it’s never really been that noticeable until now. But I care for the real Peter, not what he’s become. I…I miss him. I want him back and I would do anything to get the darkness out of him.”

Matt felt like he was seeing for the first time. “Look, I want to give Peter a second chance too,” he said gamely, putting a small smile on Claire’s pretty face. “He was a good guy in Odessa, and like you said, he’s the only one that can help us with Sylar. But…can we trust him? Will he really listen to you?”

“Maybe not listen,” confessed Claire, “since he’s always been stubborn. But I might have been going about this all wrong. Instead of yelling at him, maybe I should have hugged him. Comforted him. I…” A revelation hit Claire in that instant, and she didn’t know how she could have missed this oh-so obvious point. “I should have counteracted evil with love, not with more anger! Two wrongs don’t make a right; oh, why didn’t I see this before?”

“Good, you’ve got a plan now,” said Matt contentedly. “It’ll make things easier for you later. But what if he rejects that affection?”

“He would never hurt me,” Claire responded softly.

“No, I wouldn’t,” said a voice to her side. A familiar, husky, tenor that she’d longed to see for what seemed like an eternity. Peter materialized beside her, a miserable smile playing across his lips.

Claire remembered some of the topics of her and Matt’s conversation and she blushed ruby.

“Um…how long were you standing there?”

Peter answered honestly. “I just got here. The first thing I heard was Matt talking about a good plan.”

Speaking of the policeman, he was fighting back the urge to glare at Peter Petrelli, but held it in check for Claire’s sake. Peter looked over at him unnervingly.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he apologized sincerely. “It was unfair, you weren’t armed, and it’s all sort of a blur to me…”

“Ferrgetaboutit,” coughed Matt, involuntarily rubbing his chest again.

Peter turned to Claire again and recognized mixed emotions in her eyes. Before he could inquire about any of them, Isaac hollered for Peter from the other side of the room. A stoic, careful face had fallen over the young artist’s features, and Simone’s expression was an echo of it. Instead of ignoring them, like he wanted to, Peter gave them the benefit of the doubt and decided to see what they wanted. Right before he walked way though, Claire grabbed his elbow fiercely.

“What is it?” Peter said, brow knitting.

“Don’t do anything that you’re gonna regret,” Claire warned him, looking straight in the eye. Peter looked away.

“I can’t make that promise, but I’ll try,” he leveled with her. “For you.”

Claire nodded mutely and Peter slipped out of her grasp. He turned to face his demons, which were now coupled with a prophet and an enchantress. Countering them all at once was to be a walk through purgatory.