Chapter Six
"Lazarus"
Waking up to an armful of Claire Bennet, his face buried in her golden hair, could only be described as heaven on earth to Peter.
The rest of the night had involved a lot of acrobatics as they twirled, danced and negotiated their way from the living room to the bedroom, which happened to be located on the other side of the large house. Peter had no idea how they had managed to do it without sustaining serious injury – although technically, even if they had sustained injury he doubted either of them would have noticed since their regeneration would have taken care of anything they sustained. The night was a hazy collection of jumbled passion and fiery feelings coalescing to form one of the most intense experience of Peter's life.
His hold around her smooth shoulders tightened. If Peter had a choice, he would never let her go.
The gentle pressure must have woken her because the next instant she stirred, mumbling something into his chest. Her eyes flickered, realisation dawning on her face. "Hey." He whispered, delighted at the cute half-mewing noises she made. If this was her daily ritual, he really wanted to see it more often. Preferably every day for the rest of his life.
She slowly tilted her face up to gaze at him. "Hey." She brushed golden tendrils out of drowsy eyes and a grin broke out on her tired features. "Some night, huh?"
"You could say that." He drew lazy circles over her chest, making her giggle in response.
"Tickles."
"Good." He traced larger and larger circles with his hands, rubbing against her smooth skin until they reached the sensitive area under her chest. "Nice to know where your sensitive spots are." He smirked.
"I think you found a few last night." She dissolved again into giggles. Peter smiled fondly, realising just how young she still was. He really needed to tread carefully with her. "Not that I'm complaining or anything."
He moved in to give her a kiss but she backed away, covering her mouth. "Morning breath."
"Oh come on." Peter half-wheedled, half-protested. "One kiss."
"No!" Claire squealed and backed further out of Peter's reach, chortling at his look of anguish. "Not until I brush my teeth."
Peter could only half make out what she was saying between her hand over her mouth and his insatiable desire to have her. He slid closer, making her back away some more until they were lying at the furthest edge of the bed. "You're trapped." He noted with satisfaction, moving in for the kill.
"Peter, I'm serious." She squealed again as he caught her in his arms, using his superior strength to draw her to him. Their bodies were melded together and Peter wouldn't have had it any other way. "I've got stinky breath."
"I don't care."
"I do." She pushed him playfully away, frustrating his attentions again. She sure knew how to play hard to get. "In fact, I think we both need to brush our teeth first."
"What's with your obsession over dental hygiene?" Peter was pouting like a school boy but realistically, he had to deploy every weapon at his disposal. "One kiss. Then you can brush your teeth to your dentist's content."
"No." She replied petulantly, pouting her rosy lips for good measure. If that was meant to deter him, he sadly noted that it had completely the opposite effect. They were right on the edge of the bed now and if they moved any closer they would surely tumble off.
"Claire …" Her name came from the back of his throat, more like a growl than anything else. All this effort for one lousy kiss was actually turning him on. He caressed her breasts lightly, noting with satisfaction the way her body responded.
The woman had a will made of titanium though. She backed away but lost her balance just as Peter reached for her. The unfair result was that they both tumbled ungracefully off the bed, somehow rolling over each other so that Peter ended up cushioning Claire's fall.
"Ow." Peter muttered, the fall stinging a bit more than normal due to his nakedness. Plus, he had landed on his butt, which had hurt – quite a bit.
"Serves you right." Claire said smugly, as she lay on top of him. Peter couldn't deny that his position had its unique advantages too, the best of which was that Claire's entire body was now pressed down upon his by gravity.
He smirked, squirming wickedly. "I think I broke a rib."
"Oh please, no one breaks a rib falling off a bed." Claire made a move to get up but Peter locked his arms about her, pinning her tightly against him.
"They do if they had a 120 pound woman falling right on top of them." It was odd; their bickering didn't in any way reflect the arousal of their bodies pressed against each other. Peter was quite tired from his exertions the night before, but the sensation of Claire's skin pressed tightly against his own just made him want to repeat their performances last night over and over again. He wondered whether she was feeling his arousal as keenly as he was.
"I so am not 120 pounds!" She replied indignantly. Off Peter's look of 'whatever', she whacked him on the chest, right in the middle of his scar. "You take that back."
"Claire." His eyes traced her curves, before he looked up at her in delight. "I don't care how much you're supposed to weigh. Every inch of flesh on you is gorgeous." With that he brought his lips hard against hers, the friction eliciting a groan of pleasure from her.
Their activities were halted by distant ringing. Claire tilted her head up, listening intently. Peter wanted to scream at the interruption. "What's that?"
It took both of them to realise that it was Peter's cell phone ringing insistently where he had last left it. "Shit, it's in my pants." They both glanced automatically down his naked body, Claire appreciating his arousal in the bright light for the first time. "Where did I – ?"
"Downstairs. Where we … you know. The first time." Claire supplied, her eyes still fixed on his form. It was lucky that Peter had gotten a lot more confident about himself the last few years, otherwise he could have been uncomfortable being scrutinised so laviciously as he was at that moment by Claire. Somewhere along the line he had obviously stopped thinking about her as a girl but still, it was slightly disconcerting to see her so … appreciative of certain aspects of him.
"Right." Not bothering to cover himself he walked downstairs, pausing to smirk at her on the way out of the room.
Whoever was ringing better have had a good reason. Peter located his pants which had been thrown against the mantle over the fireplace – it was pretty lucky that they hadn't had a fire going last night – and quickly put them on.
It was Mohinder. "Peter, you and Claire have to get back here, now."
The urgency of his tone caught Peter by surprise. "What … what's happened?"
Mohinder paused, as if to take a breath to calm himself. "It's Sylar. He's alive and he's back. You and Claire have to get back here as soon as you can."
Peter stared out of the French doors, petrified. It was a glorious Sunday morning, filled with all the promise of a new day. But in one horrific instant, he felt everything but terror draining out of him. He had to swallow once, twice, even three times before he could muster enough breath to reply. "We'll be there."
He wasn't terrified at having to face Sylar again, if indeed he had survived the 50 storey fall. The most terrible thing Peter had ever done in his life – that one act that continued to haunt him even after these years – he was terrified that he'd have to repeat it and kill the man he had already killed three years before.
Claire reacted in a not dissimilar way when Peter gently broke the news to her. One minute she was slumped, terrified against the end of the bed; the next she was scurrying around the room throwing all their belongings haphazardly into their bags, not caring what stuff she threw in which bag. She was muttering incoherently to herself and if Peter had been in a calmer frame of mind, he would have made her take a time out and calm down.
Who was he kidding? He needed a calm presence himself, someone to straighten their panic out. Someone like Nathan. Or Claude – although his mentor tended to be more highly strung than Peter was.
"I think we've got everything. We have to get back home Peter." She looked up at him, her eyes lost and imploring. He had almost forgotten how much she still looked to him for guidance. He picked up the bags and headed to the car, while Claire slung their coats over her arm.
The drive back to New York was eerily quiet. They were both lost in their own thoughts. Peter berated himself inwardly for the way he was not handling this. He should be more together. He should be calmer, more rational, thinking everything through before jumping to the next step. Nathan had told him that he was too impulsive, always leaping before he thought.
Peter had always been proud of that impulsiveness, that readiness to help others. But on that fateful day three years ago, it had almost made him kill millions of people because he had thrown himself headlong into the fight without thought for the consequences.
He was terrified, afraid of what he'd have to do to kill a man that wouldn't stay dead. But there was one fear even more terrible to contemplate, that had always lurked like a phantom at the edge of his vision since his encounter with Sylar.
That darkness in him, a simmering vortex that he had kept in check all these years. He always glimpsed it in his dreams – nightmares really. Dreams of pain and blood, darkness and fire and a kaleidoscope of things he could do with the power he wielded. Fractured reality, pain and the sensation that he was dreaming of the future, a future where Peter Petrelli had turned into the very thing he had had to kill. Full circle, and in a twisted, sadistic way, the whole thing made a tortured kind of sense. To become the very thing he had killed, because he had killed it.
He had told no one about his feelings, his voices – not even Claire. Half the time he couldn't even admit it to himself. He had resisted the temptation to use his borrowed powers even after all this time, not trusting himself to access that seemingly unlimited reservoir without being corrupted by it. Peter sometimes fancied that Claire caught distinct hints of it. In a way he wished she could see through him; he needed someone to rescue him from his fate.
Sylar's core power – his ability to see how things worked – was the only ability Peter hadn't stopped himself from accessing. He used it now almost intuitively like he had been born with it. No matter what he tried he couldn't separate himself from it. The feeling it gave him exhilarated and frightened him with its potency.
He thought he could live with it, put his past behind him. But if Sylar was back and if he was still alive – Peter was going to finally have to face up to it. He would have to fight the temptation to unleash everything inside him and he was terrified that it would be a battle he wasn't going to win.
"Peter?" Claire was looking at him in concern, reaching over to cover his hand in hers. She squeezed it reassuringly. "Are you okay?"
"Sure. Fine." He replied tersely, looking away.
That was the end of all conversation. They drove in tense silence to Nathan's apartment on the Upper West Side, a place Nathan only stayed at when his schedule compelled him to be near his office overnight. He usually preferred to spend the night with his wife and kids.
Everyone had already arrived when they finally got there. It was actually Nathan who opened the door, acknowledging their dishevelled appearance only with a grim greeting. "What took you so long?"
"We got here as fast as we could." Nathan nodded to Claire as he led them to where the others had assembled in the cavernous living room. "I thought you were in Washington for the weekend."
"Flew back this morning. Had to take care of some business." Nathan replied shortly, cutting off conversation between them.
Mohinder and Isaac, who had been talking together, nodded to them in greeting. Hiro and Ando were conferring in hushed tones to the side, Hiro's ever present sword slung across his shoulders. Over the last few years he had learned not to take it with him everywhere he went; it tended to attract strange looks and unwanted attention. But whenever a serious emergency came up – and the current situation certainly fitted the bill – it came out again.
Claire's eyes caught the gleam of the sword hilt under the bright lights, no doubt thinking of the last and only time she had had to use it. Her eyes involuntary flicked to Peter, who abruptly glanced away.
Nathan's flat screen television showed Matt and Audrey talking patiently with Niki and DL. DL had been holding onto Niki but upon seeing them, he released her. Niki came to give Claire a hug. "How was your trip honey?"
Claire smiled at the other woman gratefully. Peter kicked himself for being so insensitive – during the turmoil of the last few hours, he had forgotten that last night probably meant as much to Claire as to him, but with added significance. She had hinted more than a few times that last night would have been the first time for her. He reached out, more to reassure her that the tense silence had nothing to do with what happened last night but she expertly danced out of his reach, striding forward to meet the others. She was so good at that – pretending like nothing ever bothered her. But Peter always knew the truth, and he knew that it did bother her now.
Claire smiled, but the expression was too bright. "It was good. I'll tell you about it later."
Niki was a woman enough to read between the lines and her eyes immediately flickered over to Peter. Although Niki had gained sufficient control over Jessica over the last few years, he wouldn't put it past her to unleash her on anyone that hurt the ones she loved – which incidentally included Claire. And Jessica was a lot less rational and much more angry than the understanding and patient Niki. Peter backed away, making a mental note to have a serious discussion with Niki if time permitted to clear the air.
"Okay, what the hell's going on here? Sylar's still alive? How can that even be possible?" Nathan's years spent as a Congressman had honed his natural ability to cut through the mess.
They looked blankly at each other. Finally Mohinder hazarded a guess. "Well … he obviously must have survived the fall. It could have seriously injured him, but –"
"He fell off a 50 storey building! People – human beings – just don't recover and walk away from that!"
"Can someone get me back into the loop?" Audrey demanded. "How do we even know that Sylar's still alive?"
"We got word – the facility where Sylar had been kept – it exploded a few hours ago."
Mohinder replied, glancing at Claire. "Your father told us."
"When?"
"He only found out his organisation had been keeping Sylar alive all these years. They'd kept it from him because they knew how he felt about Sylar."
"Why would they keep that from him? He works for them."
"Probably because he wants Sylar dead as much as the rest of us." Niki noted dryly, cracking her knuckles dangerously. "After what that bastard put me though, I'm ready for payback."
"Before we get into payback, we have to work out what we're going to do." Peter finally stepped in.
"I have to see him." Claire declared abruptly, rushing to Hiro. "I have to see my dad."
Hiro glanced at Peter, who gave him a barely perceptible nod. It would be useless trying to prevent her from going to Texas and he knew that if Hiro refused to teleport her she would just hop onto the next plane anyway. Trying to talk her out of it would have been folly.
"Claire." He called out to her, oblivious to the others in the room. "Be careful. He might still be there."
She had astutely avoided him since exchanging their last words in the car, but now she succumbed and allowed him to embrace her tightly. Peter held on to her slightly shaking form, realising for the first time how much she was really holding in for the sake of appearance. "I love you." He whispered into her ear, barely audible even to her.
"Me too." It was partly muffled because she had buried her face into his chest. They parted, and Hiro soon teleported Claire out of the room.
"I'll never get used to seeing that." Nathan observed dryly, trying to bring some levity into the room. "Between his sword and the waffles and the comic books, it's hard to tell what he's going to do next."
They quickly got back to the matter at hand. As far as Mohinder had been able to surmise, the clandestine organisation that Claire's father worked for had somehow retrieved Sylar after his fight with Peter. It was strange to hear it described that way; Peter still thought of that act as murder. Was it murder if the man you had killed hadn't died after all?
"Sylar would've been too wounded to resist capture; most likely he was actually dead or close to death. From Peter's account, Sylar was about to explode. He'd absorbed too much of Ted Sprague's power. As we know …" He, as well as the others, looked at Peter. "Only something like death would have stopped Sylar from exploding that day."
"So you think he was dead? And they somehow revived him?" Matt murmured.
Mohinder nodded. "I think it is the most likely explanation for why Sylar didn't explode that day. He was probably dead, then revived. Without natural regenerative powers, even for someone like him an experience like that would have taken weeks, maybe even months to recover from."
"So what've they been doing with him all this time?" Audrey asked. "If these Primatech guys had Sylar for three years, why break out now? Supposing he'd taken a few months to recover, that still doesn't explain why he chose to make his move now."
Mohinder shrugged. "I have as much idea as the rest of you. After Claire's father called, he was going to get back to me on any other information he could find." Everyone looked at him expectantly.
"And?" Audrey asked pointedly, voicing what was going on in everyone's minds.
"He … hasn't gotten back to me yet. Hopefully Claire and Hiro will be able to find out something."
"Great." Nathan muttered, glancing at his watch impatiently. "I've already had to postpone a meeting with my staff twice today. What's the guess on how long this thing's going to take?" Peter had to hand it to his brother. Nathan managed to make a potentially major catastrophe sound like a minor hindrance. "Don't look at me like that, I've got a district to run."
"There's more." Isaac intoned quietly. "I brought some of my latest paintings. They're … not encouraging." Nodding at Ando, they left the room to return a moment later, each laden with an armful of canvasses.
Peter stared, perplexed as Isaac and Ando lined them up in order. Over the last few years, Isaac had gotten better at deciphering the sequence of events from his paintings which had helped them enormously. It had been a lot better than playing a deadly guessing game with their lives.
There were six panels in all. The first canvas showed Sylar – or someone like him – calmly strolling away from a burning warehouse. The second apparently showed Peter, Claire and Sylar standing and talking in the same room, which could not have been right. The third showed Hiro, Ando and Mohinder looking scared at something to the right hand side. Hiro had his sword out as if defending the others, their unique symbol prominent in the foreground. The fourth canvas showed Niki, DL and Nathan defending three small boys; Nathan started at that because it suggested that their children would somehow come under attack. The fifth apparently showed Sylar shooting fireballs at someone in the distance. The sixth and last canvas showed Isaac dead, the top of his head sliced open and his brain gone.
Predictably, it was the last canvas that had all of them in shock. Peter and the others looked at Isaac in disbelief at the calmness with which he was apparently accepting his fate. "I don't think this can be right." DL muttered.
"My paintings haven't been wrong before. The order could be slightly out, but they're never wrong." Isaac replied quietly, a steely glint in his eye. "It's okay, I'm ready for it if it happens. Anyway, there are many ways to interpret my paintings." Peter secretly didn't think that it left much room for interpretation. It was straight out of Sylar's how to be a telekinetic serial killer handbook that he could no doubt have authored given the time.
"In any case." Isaac seemed eager to not dwell on his imminent death, not that Peter blamed him. In a strange way, he was probably the only one that could have understood Isaac's position – he had lived through a few tortuous weeks of thinking he was going to explode and bring down half of New York along with him. "This at least gives us something to go on. I think it's safe to say that the first painting has probably already occurred."
They all nodded. They just had to work out what the rest of the paintings meant and hopefully they would be able to prevent the imminent death of one of their own.
