Edited to tone down my ridiculous adverb abuse...
2. Unwelcome Company
Mr. Bennet looked through the blinds evasively, watching as a sedan drove towards their house, and passed by.
He should've seen this coming. He was well aware that Peter could easily regenerate after exploding. But he never pressed the possibility whenever Claire brought it up, for fear of getting her hopes up too much. He didn't know for sure how going nuclear would affect a mimic like Peter, or the damage it could cause, even with regenerative abilities.
Then he got the answer three days ago, from Peter himself. The young man, alive and well, had found Matt Parkman, to whom Bennet had given their phone number for emergency reasons. Peter had explained his situation, and Bennet eventually invited him over for a visit—provided that he not mention his plans to Claire just yet. At this point, two months after leading the dismantlement of the Company, Bennet wasn't sure how deep he wanted to be entrenched in this sort of madness again. Especially now that he had gotten things back to relative normalcy. On the home front, anyway.
"Noah?" Sandra entered the bedroom, walking over to the window where her husband sat. "Honey, dinner should be ready in twenty minutes. …Any sign of him?"
"No, not just yet. Where's Claire?"
"Sitting on the porch, watching the street, just like you." He let out a slight chuckle. "Are you worried about something?"
He looked at his wife. "Are you?"
"Of course not. You said he's a nice man, and he saved Claire, after all. Now, that being said, you don't exactly look convinced by your own words."
"Peter said he's on a little mission," he answered, somewhat grim. "It's impossible to accomplish, but he wants my help.
"I'm sure you can help him in some way," she said optimistically, as if dealing with someone like Peter Petrelli was as simple as lending your ladder to a neighbor. "You have a lot of free time, when you're not at the computer factory. And you don't always have to take care of me, dear; Dr. Fields said my brain scan looked much better than five weeks ago."
Bennet gave no reply to this, but feeling guilty, he gave his wife a quiet hug. "What's Lyle up to?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Oh, I think he's watching TV, I don't know what-"
"PETER!" came Claire's jubilant voice outside. Her parents saw her leap off the porch and run towards her uncle, just as he ducked out of the cab. Peter almost fell over as Claire ran into him with a loving hug.
"He's here!" Sandra said anxiously, leaving the room, "Goodness, I have to check on the vegetables, and make sure the table's set correctly…"
Taking one last look out the window (Claire was giggling at Peter's haircut) Bennet exited the room as well, anything but excited for their guest.
Lucy Aquino found her mark.
Other Asians were masters of the stereotypical things. Medicine, engineering, music, martial arts, tricking out one's Honda Civic. Lucy long ago realized she was shit at all that, but she was well versed in the art of Pickpocketry, the science of a misspent youth.
But it always took her a while to find a good one. This guy was perfect though, and not to mention, a real looker. For the past five minutes, he'd been standing in the subway car staring out the window distractedly, wearing a nice jacket over a blue sweater and white oxford shirt. Although the sweater's bulkiness limited the number of moments his inside coat pocket would be wide open, it was no real obstacle for her.
Not for Lucy and her lightning-hands.
She noticed that he also had a nice Razr sticking out of his back pocket. She could get more money for the Blackberry she just swiped off the business woman currently leaving the car, but she decided she'd steal the Razr for the win. Hey, at least it was a chance to make a pass at the hottie, even if he didn't notice.
The subway train started off again, and, using her peripherals, Lucy could see her mark check the time on his watch. It was a shame this car didn't go through any tunnels. With that much time in the dark, she could totally jack the watch too and hawk it for some nice cash downtown. But she couldn't pick and choose.
They were approaching another stop, and Lucy pretended to be making her way towards the door, swiftly snagging the guy's wallet on the way. Once she was behind him she got the Razr too, and silently she waited for the car to stop.
She smiled happily on her way out. It was always far too easy for her. At this rate, she could have enough for a nicer apartment by next week; she definitely deserved it. Lucy looked inside the wallet. Maybe she'd look into that vacancy by the park; she'd always wanted to live over there because it was closer to the restaurant. Or in the one downtown, by her friend—
"Excuse me!" came a voice, and simultaneously a hand dropped on her shoulder and a gun pressed into her back. Terrified, she turned her head, finding herself facing the hottie from the subway.
He gave her a kind grin. "I have to say, that was amazing work you did back there! Especially with that business woman and her Blackberry, I was very impressed with your speed. But, I think today you may have picked the wrong pocket."
"Look sir," Lucy stuttered, trying to find a way out. "I'm sorry, I-I'll give you your stuff back, I swear, just please, just don't…don't shoot me, sir, I'm-"
"—There's no need to worry miss, you're not in any trouble yet." The man reassured her. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of deal, however. And please, don't make me feel old with this 'sir' business. Call me Mohinder. Mohinder Suresh."
Peter sat on the porch with Claire and Lyle after dinner, watching the sun set behind the trees.
"Come on, do something cool," Lyle was urging Peter.
"Lyle! Stop bothering him!" said Claire.
"Come on, no one's outside, and it's getting dark. He can do a small thing, can't you Peter?"
Peter shook his head. "I don't think your dad would approve of me busting your cover, Mark."
Sulking, Lyle sat back. He really hated that name. "You can't do something really quickly?"
"Mark!" called their mother. "Come in and help clean up the table!"
"Get Jodi to do it instead!" he yelled back. He turned to Peter again. "Come on, you can't like, levitate the dog or something?"
"Cut it out, Mark," Claire insisted again.
"You said he could do a bunch of things, why can't he-"
"—MARK! Get your butt in here, right now!!"
Lyle grumbled to himself and went inside to face the Wrath of Mom. Claire shook her head apologetically at a laughing Peter.
"Sorry, he's been more of a brat than usual lately," she told him.
"Ah, it's no big deal," he said, scratching Mr. Muggles behind the ears. "…Miss Jodi Petersen."
Claire snorted. "Daughter of Mike and Alice."
"What about your dog?"
"To the rest of the world, he's Maddy; inside the house we have to call him Mr. Muggles or else my mom says we might traumatize him."
Peter smiled amusedly, continuing to pet Mr. Muggles poofy mane.
"I'm glad you're alive, Peter," said Claire finally.
"Glad to be," he returned, looking her in the eye earnestly. "And I'm glad I got to see you again. I was wondering when I would."
"You look like crap, you know."
Peter laughed again, happy to add Claire's teenage opinion to his list of critiques. "What, the haircut and goatee don't do anything?"
"You really need to start watching TV for your fashion sense," she told him. "Seriously, why is it that every other time I see you, you look malnourished? What have you been doing?"
"Traveling, mostly," he said simply, stretching out his frame on the chair swing. "Trying to figure out a few things."
"Why didn't you go home? You've been all over the news for months."
He shrugged, trying not to make his motives obvious. "I have my reasons. One of them is that I don't want to see my mom just yet, or Heidi and the kids."
"Because you've been looking for my dad?" she asked quietly.
Peter looked at her. He wasn't supposed to mention Nathan, but honestly, the subject was unavoidable. At last, he answered, "Yeah. It's been four months but…I haven't found anything. Not a trace."
"Did he blow up with you?"
He sighed. "I don't know. See, he flew me up there, but at the last second I tried to shove him away, right before I went off. And it was so bright, I couldn't tell what happened, exactly."
"…Do you really think he's alive?" she asked carefully.
"I don't know," he said, uncertainty compelling him once more. "But I have to try looking for him, at the very least. He's my brother. I have a responsibility. To him and to you and the rest of our family."
"What if you don't find him?"
Peter didn't have an answer for that. He didn't want to, not yet. Claire accepted his silence, and stayed quiet herself for a while, rocking the porch swing they were sitting on back and forth with her toes. Finally, she asked, "You'll let me know the second you find something, right? You won't sugar-coat anything?"
He shook his head. "I wouldn't do that to you, Claire. You deserve the truth."
"Thanks, Peter."
"No problem." They continued to watch the incoming evening for a while, Claire pointing out various quirks about her neighbors as their respective outdoor lights came to life along the darkening street. For a few minutes, it was nice. Sipping iced tea, enjoying the evening, talking about nothing. It was the kind of bonding time they should've had in New York, when they were busy arguing about the next course of action or debating Nathan's trustworthiness
Suddenly, an all too familiar burning shot through Peter's chest. He looked away, trying to suppress it once more.
Just stay down, dammit, not here…he hoped Claire wouldn't ask why he had abruptly stopped talking…keep breathing, don't freak out here, relax…Shit, he shouldn't have left his luggage inside…he could get the drugs if he excused himself-
"Claire." Mr. Bennet was at the door now. "Could you come inside, please? I think Mom wants you to help find one of Mr. Muggles' brushes."
Peter realized that he wanted to talk to him. Claire knew this too, and, smiling back at him before leaving, she went inside obediently.
"Ohio's not a bad place," Peter started, deciding to try to get Bennet to ramble on with small talk while he tried to get this under control. "Nice suburbs, probably greener than Texas, I would think-"
He was interrupted by the force of his head being shoved downward and an abrupt prick to the back of the neck. Bennet held Peter's head down as he administered the tranquilizer, and soon Peter felt a wave of calm pass over him. The burning subsided, and he settled down.
"You might've mentioned over the phone that you were having trouble with your radioactivity," Bennet told him irritably, putting the syringe away in his jacket and sitting down in a patio chair. "Common courtesy, you know. Don't want you to trail nuclear fallout all over the carpet."
"You made it such a short conversation, I didn't get the chance…" Peter gasped, leaning over and rubbing his face in his hands. "It's why I've been gone all this time…I've been trying to figure it out-"
"With antidepressants?" Bennet questioned. "I searched your bag. You don't want to go the Isaac route, Peter."
"I know. That's why I've been trying to train myself—I even went to the Arizona desert for a month, so I wouldn't hurt anybody. But no matter what I do, I can't control it." Peter looked up at him. "That's why I came here, Noah."
Bennet sighed, looking away. He knew where this was going. And Peter even used his first name, the little bastard. That had simply been a spur-of-the-moment, pre-apocalypse sort of thing you tell someone. Now Peter was using it to get a favor.
"Can you help me learn how to control my powers?"
"That's not what you asked for when you called," Bennet stated. "Ask for one thing or another, Peter, not both. I've got responsibilities to my family here."
"Look, I can find Nathan by myself if I have to," he haggled. "But I really need your help on this one."
Bennet looked at him, curious. "And why do you believe that I can help you, Peter?"
"Because you knew Claude personally," Peter said boldly. "Am I right? And don't try to evade that one, I remember you from that night on the Deveaux rooftop. …Claude taught me how to use my abilities, you can do the same, right?"
There was no answer for a moment. Then, he said, "Just because I know a man doesn't mean I have the same penchant for teaching."
"But you worked with Ted Sprague. I think you know how this whole nuclear thing works. That's why you gave me the tranquilizer, right?"
He waved off Peter's comment. "It's a temporary fix. If I had given it to you seconds later, when you had amassed enough energy to blow up, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, even with tranquilizers."
"Then show me how to fix it permanently," Peter insisted. "I need to learn how to control it, like Ted did."
"Ted did do the same thing you did," said Bennet, irate now. "He holed himself up in a shack, taught himself everything he knows. Knew, actually." He said bitterly, catching himself at the end.
"What's the difference, then? Why didn't I learn how to control my power?"
"I imagine that insecurity complex of yours might've had something to do with it," Bennet muttered.
Peter's brow furrowed. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Please, I watched that 'fight' you had with Sylar," he said critically. "You barely made a move until you gained confidence from having the upper-hand. You've no doubt realized that the man has a better mastery of his skills than you do, haven't you?"
"Are you fucking trying to tell me that Sylar was better than me?" Peter questioned, standing up.
"I would never say that about someone who's wronged me more than once," said Bennet, raising his voice but still calm. "I'm only trying to tell you that he has a harder time obtaining abilities than you do; he has to hone and use his skills in order to earn more," he pointed out. "And yes, Peter, I used the present tense there. Sylar survived. He escaped into the sewers not too long after you exploded."
Peter stared, looking into the neighborhood with a distressed countenance. "So…Sylar's still alive?"
"Yes, and with better proficiency in radioactivity than you have. Even if I agreed to spend all my time teaching you, I couldn't help you with your damn confidence problem."
"I could," said Claire. Both men turned to find her standing in the doorway, watching their argument. "At least, I could try."
"How long you been there, Claire?" Bennet asked softly.
"Came into the conversation about the same time Sylar did," she answered. "And confidence is something you can work on, Dad, just like any other skill." She looked over at Peter sympathetically. "I could definitely help you with that. I was a cheerleader, after all."
Peter smiled at his niece. "My own support squad, huh? That'd be nice."
"Come on Dad, help Peter out. He's practically like your brother-in-law."
Bennet laughed slightly; it was amazing how skilled Claire was at mediating situations. Or maybe he was always just too ready to agree with her. "Fine, I'll do it," he answered at last, though there was some noticeable reluctance. "But in regards to Nathan, you have to swear that you'll postpone that search if you hear anything about Sylar going on another spree."
"I will," said Peter resolutely. "People's lives are a priority, I understand that."
"Good. Well then, Peter Petrelli, you have a tutor." He extended his hand, and Peter shook it.
"And a cheerleader, don't forget," said Claire.
"Never would," Peter replied, giving her a hug. "Thanks so much for this Claire, Noah."
Bennet shook his head. He made a mental note to attach another clause to that unwritten contract; if Peter ever gave anyone else his first name, he'd strangle the boy, nuclear or not.