Chapter Seven
"The Invisible Man"
The invisible man – Claude, she amended herself – was obviously not a big fan of interior decorating. Although Peter had told her that he didn't actually live there, the sterility of the converted warehouse in the midst of Soho chilled her. It reminded Claire of a morgue. The man also obviously didn't believe in being easy to pin down either. After the third buzz, they were let into the refurbished complex. The door mysteriously swung open to admit them inside.
"Creepy." She whispered, feeling almost as if she was in church or a graveyard, prompting a chuckle from Peter. Seeing him smile, Claire could not help but be reminded of the big day. It was only three days until November 8. Claire's hands grew clammy just thinking about how close they all were to ultimate calamity. This guy had better be able to help Peter, or else … well, something.
The place was unfurnished and dimly lit. Although it was a moderately sunny fall day outside, the blinds were drawn so that only tiny slits of light filtered through. Claire couldn't understand why a guy who could be invisible needed to evade the glare of intrusive gazes from outside. It didn't make sense to hide from a world that couldn't see you.
"Claude?" She heard Peter call. His voice hung and echoed for a moment, before an answering voice replied, deeper and a little menacing.
"You've brought a visitor." The way he said 'visitor' made Claire feel a little more unwelcomed than welcomed. If she had been alone she would have been tempted to bolt, but she trusted Peter's instincts.
"This is Claire, the cheerleader I told you about." Although she knew that Peter meant well, she was getting more than a little irritated at always being introduced as the cheerleader. Wasn't she capable of doing anything else?
"Um, hi." She muttered shyly, addressing the emptiness in front of her. She couldn't see the guy – he was invisible after all – and it felt a little awkward talking to empty air.
Peter cleared his throat awkwardly. His hand on the small of her back gently guided her to face the left. "He's over there." He whispered.
"Oh." Awkwardness. Claire knew it wouldn't help, but she found herself squinting in what she presumed to be Claude's general direction, trying to make out something, anything, of the man supposedly standing in front of her. Predictably, Claire couldn't make anything out. She turned to Peter to say as much but gasped in shock. He had become slightly transparent, the husk of his frame still visible but appearing to be made of something like cellophane. "Peter, you're transparent."
He looked down sheepishly. "Oh. I'm trying to stop that." He mumbled.
"Try harder?" Claire didn't care whether her voice squeaked or not, it was freaky seeing Peter half there and half … not. Even though logically she knew that he would still physically be with her even if she couldn't see him, it was still – and she couldn't stress this enough – freaky.
Peter closed his eyes. His face dipped slightly in concentration, making his sleek hair fall over the side of his face. She was relieved when after a moment he was able to return somewhat to normal. "Good, good." She heard an unfamiliar calm, soft voice in front of her. "That was good re-substantiation."
"Re-wh-huh?" The shell of a man – Peter had been accurate in his description in that he was quite tall and imposing – materialised out of thin air in front of her. Claire let out a half-gasp in astonishment even though she had known he had been there the entire time. "Re-substantiation. Re-materialisation. In plain English, your friend was able to block my power and assert a mental barrier around himself. He willed himself to not mimic me."
Claire wanted to retort that it didn't sound at all like plain English but a whole lot of mumbo jumbo, but she kept her mouth shut. The man, with his foreboding beard and lined face, was also about a foot taller than her and looked capable of snapping her in half with his bare hands. Plus, he looked kind of menacing and grumpy, not at all what she thought an invisible mentor would look like. But then he suddenly smiled and extended his hand courteously and his whole demeanour brightened. "It's nice to finally meet you, Claire."
"You too." His smile and crisp English accent made him seem less like menacing and more friendly.
"You've been a very important person in Peter's life." Claude continued warmly.
Claire stammered. "Oh … really?" His cool exterior was really beginning to melt. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Peter colouring a little. "He's … had a big impact on me too. Saving my life will kind of do that." She joked.
"Uh, I've been telling Claude about what everything. You know, 'save the cheerleader, save the world? You're kind of central, being the cheerleader." Peter seemed to feel the need to clarify, which was gratifying but also a deflating. Claire didn't want to admit that she had kind of enjoyed the sensation of being described as important in Peter's life.
Claude invited her to sit on a chair in the corner of the room, making it possible to observe his discussions with Peter. Claire was glad, as she had been curious about what precisely he was doing to help Peter control his power. What had Mohinder called it? Biological mimicry.
It turned out Claude was probably as learned about their unique abilities as Mohinder was, if not more, seeing as he was able to study it first hand. She was surprised to learn that Peter's power to take on the abilities of those around him came from his deep empathy with everyone he met. That meant the key to controlling that ability was most likely to be found in controlling or focusing his empathy away from those he didn't wish to absorb powers from and channelling it into control of his feelings.
So, that was it? The big thing they were going to do to stop Peter from exploding was to make him less empathetic towards others? Claire liked Mohinder's idea better about developing a vaccine to temporarily block Peter's abilities.
"You need to focus!" Claude said sharply, not for the first time that morning. Even sitting at a comfortable distance from them, Claire could feel Peter's frustration rolling off him like heat waves.
"I am! Do you think I'm doing this on purpose?"
"You need to clear your mind of emotional turmoil. This isn't meditation, this isn't tai-chi or yoga or any other mystical nonsense. This is all about you. You have to look inside yourself, understand who you are and what you're capable of. Feel when you are absorbing the powers of those around you. Feel my power. Close your eyes."
"They're already closed." Peter gritted out, his tone a lot sharper than usual. He seemed to be subconsciously mirroring Claude's terseness.
"Feel it." The other man continued as if the interruption had not occurred. "Can you feel it?"
There was a short pause, before Peter replied. "Yeah. I can … I actually can."
"Good. Visualise it now, like waves crashing onto a beach during a storm. You're the beach, my power is crashing into you."
"So how can I stop it?"
"You can stop it because you can. You have the power, not me. Visualise – the storm is no longer an issue, because you control the storm. Without the storm, the waves stop crashing. They lap, and you can control the tide, the strength. The waves will be calm and still, not encroaching on the beach at all, given the right conditions." Claire watched them, fascinated. Claude clearly had a good teaching style and had total credibility in terms of mentoring Peter, being the Yoda to his ... whatever the guy from Star Wars was.
"What is most important – what you will learn, is that even waves leave marks. You should be able to access that mark, recreate it in your mind."
Peter's eyes snapped open. "What, you mean I'll be able to recall those powers that I get from others?"
"Eventually." Claude snapped. "Your attention's gone. Get it back."
That continued for a good while. Claire was pretty impressed with herself for not yawning even once throughout the session.
Peter was now telling Claude about the dramatic events of the night before, including the reappearance of his nightmares. Claire, whose attention had began wandering, jerked to full awareness at that news. Why hadn't Peter told her?
Because he hadn't wanted her to worry, her inner voice said. Which was a pretty stupid thing to do, in her opinion.
They spent the next hour working on Peter's control of his ability, with Claude talking him through certain parts. Mostly, to an onlooker everything looked fairly dull, but she reminded herself that this was supposed to be crucial in aiding Peter attain some semblance of control to avert the coming disaster.
Three days. That was all that stood between them and death. It was funny how much Claire thought of the others – including Peter and herself – as a single group, a not quite legion of freaks who hoped to 'save the world'. Claire was convinced she was somehow central in all the drama that had erupted around her. She had never been self-centred, but if the mission statement of 'save the cheerleader, save the world' had told her anything, it was that she somehow had something to do with saving the world. Hiro had patiently explained to her that it wasn't an "if, then" statement, but Claire hadn't quite gotten her mind around it.
She knew one thing. Peter had believed it enough to launch himself off a building in order to save her. And because he believed it, so did she.
At last Peter and Claude stood up, with the session appearing to have finished. Peter reminded Claude that the deadline – pun completely unintended – was looming rather close. "This is a question I'm sure that's already been asked." The older man said sarcastically, though not unkindly. "But have you considered the possibility that your dream should not be interpreted literally?"
"What do you mean?" Peter asked, turning around to face his mentor.
Claude began pacing about the room. "There are certain elements of your dream –"
"Vision." Peter corrected.
"Of your vision that do not follow from a logical standpoint."
"I don't … follow." Claire asked curiously. It sounded like Claude was building up to something important.
"Peter believes that what he had was a vision of the future. But in the future, why would Claire be wearing her cheerleading outfit? What would the others – Isaac, Hiro, Simone, Mohinder – why would they all be there if they knew what was going to happen? There are elements there that seem – abstract."
"So Claire won't be wearing her outfit. So what? What's going to happen to me is still going to happen, that doesn't change anything."
"Yes it does. If everything isn't literal, it means everything is abstract. Something to be interpreted. Claire is in her cheerleading outfit as a symbol, a mere representation of something that is important to you or your life."
"It doesn't matter, I explode." Peter's eyes were painfully anguished. "… every single time, I explode."
"But do you?" Claude asked cryptically. "You have relied on important pieces of information and joined them up together as if they were pieces of the same whole. Your friend Hiro tells you that November 8 there will be a big nuclear explosion. Your friend Isaac has painted the future with that explosion. You've had a vision that you explode." Here the older man held his two hands, joining them together for emphasis. "But you need to ask yourself – do they really fit together in that order? Is that the only interpretation you can come up with?"
"Do you have another?" Claude's alternative perked Claire's attention up. This was a new idea she could wrap her head around.
"Merely that there's always more than meets the eye, and nothing is as it seems." He came towards Peter, his eyes burning intensely in the gloom. "Ask yourself this. The dream, what happened in Odessa – brought all of you together. Something is going to happen in three days. But it may not be what you think. Perhaps your dream's only function was to bring all your friends together. All of you meeting – people with special abilities – can't be merely a coincidence."
"That … doesn't make any sense at all, Claude." Peter said, energy seeming to drain out of him.
Claude gave them a calm, squeezing Peter's shoulder grimly. "You'll be able to get through it. Stop whatever it is. Go to Mohinder and let him help you as much as he can. Between us, I think it will be just enough to prevent it from happening." The taller man approached, addressing to Claire directly. "You can also help your friend." Claire studiously avoided Peter's suddenly intense gaze. "Your power is to heal, and Peter needs to feed off that as much as possible." It made her sound like a Big Mac and Peter like some giant fat sucking vampire, but Claire didn't really mind, if it helped Peter in any way. She nodded, giving a serious smile to the man towering over her.
Claude agreed to let Peter and Claire stay at the empty apartment for the night. Passing them the keys, he quickly bade them good-bye and left them in the eerie silence. "So your nightmares are back." Claire asked, accusation lacing her tone. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to worry." Claire found it telling that Peter was the one now carefully avoiding her penetrating gaze, sticking his hands in his pockets. "It's good Claude let us stay here." He said after a while.
She stared, unblinking at his dark eyes, which were looking at everything but her. "You didn't think it'd help talking to me about it, did you?" She said indignantly, hating the immaturity in her voice. She sounded so young, no wonder he couldn't take her seriously.
"What? What are you talking about?" He puffed, expelling pent up emotion. His brown eyes, usually calm and open, now spit sparks of passionate fury. Although he had been wearing the same clothes that Simone had lent him a couple of nights ago, he appeared suddenly to be an entirely different person. An entirely different, completely angry sort of person.
"You didn't tell me because you thought I wouldn't be able to understand." Claire repeated obstinately, her voice raising an octave. "You think I'm just a cheerleader you have to run around and save all the time. I'm important because I'm the cheerleader and you have to save the world. I'm like this huge waste of space that you have to lug around 'cause I can't take care of myself!"
"That's crap and you know it!" Claire was so angry she didn't even flinch at his ferocity.
"Do I?" The pitch of her voice was so high now she was for all intents and purposes screaming at him. "Do I?! You run around and treat me like I'm made of glass. You're so careful to keep all the details of your big – of what's going to happen to you – from me, I had to find out most of it from the others, who I met for like five minutes!" Like all the other times she was angry, she found herself waving her arms wildly. "You didn't even tell me about your dream back in Odessa. When you came out of your coma, I told you everything. How could you keep something like that a secret? How come you possibly keep something like that a secret from me?!"
"What, I'm supposed to tell you everything now? You're just a girl." Perhaps he hadn't meant it the way it came out, but that was the single most hurtful thing he could have said to her at that moment. She backed away, her body heaving with crackling emotion, with the heaving soon giving away to heart wrenching sobs.
Peter realised he had gone a step too far. He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, distress starting to line his features. He brushed hair out of his face and watched, despondent, at the wound he had inflicted on her.
Claire sank forlornly against the wall, burying her face in her hands, not caring that he could see every break and crack of emotion that seeped out of her. He didn't seem to understand – or maybe he did and didn't want to admit it – that in the space of the last few days, he had become everything to her. It was too much – even Claire knew this – but these were extraordinary circumstances. It was more than the fact that he had saved her life and her wanting to return the favour, it was … she couldn't quite know what it was. It was like her life would be extinguished too if she had to see him die.
Through the wetness, she became aware of soft, gentle hands covering her own, tenderly forcing hers open so he could look at her face. Silently he kneeled in front of her and cupped her face in his hands, his face breaking with the intensity of the emotion. "I …" Claire finally raised her eyes to meet his, gloriously piercing dark eyes in the gloom. He seemed to be struggling with himself for the right words. "I hardly know you. But I feel too close … you're so young. You should be in high school practicing cheers and baking cup cakes. You don't deserve this. I can't … think clearly … with you." He gave a little laugh. "I wanted to protect you so badly I jumped off a building and I still don't know why. Pretty stupid, huh?"
Her tears stemmed. She hated it when she cried, her face became blotchy and red and generally unattractive. She hated that she had said such awful things to Peter when he was only trying to protect her, all the while knowing that there was every possibility that he could be dead in three days. And here she was, being a stupid, self-centred inconsiderate girl. "Not stupid at all." She sniffed and closed her eyes, ashamed by the serious hissy fit she had just thrown.
When she had the courage to open her eyes again, she found that their faces were so close they were almost touching. Their eyes locked, Peter's searching, murky as a glittering night in the gloom. He was so close she could smell him, feel his breath on her face, feel the rise and fall of it as he inhaled and exhaled on her skin. He ran a hand down the length of her cheek – gentle, sensitive hands Claire thought – in a caressing motion to stem the tears now silently coursing down her face.
He leaned in, planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. Claire had never felt so close to another person before, let alone a guy, and it didn't scare her a bit. It exhilarated her.
She knew this was Peter – her Peter. He would never let anything harm her if he could help it, and if they occasionally fought a little, it was to be expected. Her tears eventually died away, replaced with embarrassed sniffling as she broke their gaze. "I'm so sorry I said those horrible things to you." She wished she had a Kleenex now, because she was sure her face was an absolute mess. "I had no right. I was just … I could've been with you the last few weeks, to help heal you, if I knew. I dumped all that stuff back in the hospital on you and I didn't even know …"
"Hey, hey …" He murmured softly, pressing her to him without thought. "None of this is your fault. It's not anybody's fault. We'll get through it, you'll see." They sat, huddled together in the corner of the abandoned apartment, seemingly lost in the moment their ultimate bond was sealed.
