Part Seven
Peter's all fidgety when they finally get to the grand Petrelli town house and Claire can't blame him. His anger tangibly rolls off him and she knows it's taking all his willpower just to smooth everything into neutrality. She gets an inkling of precisely how deeply he loved his mother and loves her still; she can't help but think that because of this he feels her betrayal more keenly.
Cars creep by in the lazy early afternoon. Claire's lost track of the days; whether it's a weekend or weekday she can't be bothered to tell. Everything's completely out of control and she doesn't have it in her to care beyond their immediate goal; to find Nathan safe and sound, return him to his family because he'd been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the world.
Her dad rings the doorbell; it chimes discordantly as birds lightly chirp outside. Claire feels incongruous outside the wrought iron and glass door even though only a week ago she was living inside. It never felt like home and she remembers with a start how it only began to feel warm and safe when Peter came back, when she pulled the shard of glass from his head and become his hero the first time.
She feels his eyes on her, heavy with emotion. His hand brushes against hers lightly; probably would've taken them in his if the door hadn't opened.
When it does though, their attention's arrested and all the air seems to be sucked from the atmosphere.
Nathan stands there, pristine in his finely tailored Italian suit, crisp white shirt, brilliantly polished shoes. They gape at him like he's the second coming and really, Claire's jumbled mind has just enough working capacity to acknowledge that's probably not a bad description right now.
Nathan's eyes flare when he sees Peter, runs forward to envelop his little brother in a hug. "Peter. Thank god. I've been worried sick." Claire looks to her dad but he's as shocked as she is; his jaw's slack, watching the brothers reunite.
Peter's arms are still by his side, he's in so much shock he can't move. "Nathan … is that … is it really you?" He manages to gasp between stilted breaths as he starts gripping his brother back. Releases him finally; looks him up and down like he's an illusion that's going to shatter any second. "How did you –"
"Come in, I'll explain everything." Nathan puts his arm around Peter, peers at Claire and her dad standing awkwardly to the side. His eyes widen when they land on her dad but it's only a momentary flicker; Claire thinks she must've imagined it. Her dad's resolute, contemplative.
They're in the black and white marble foyer with the elaborate chandelier dangling above their heads. Everything's rather gaudy but Claire knows it's the very latest in old world chic in interior design; it's precisely why she can never think of it as home. Peter's staring in shock and wonder into his older brother's face; she decides she likes the effect on him. The weight of the world's slowly being lifted and it gives her hope for a brighter future.
"How did you survive the explosion?" Peter winces visibly at her dad's bluntness, but Claire has to admit he's got a point. Back in Odessa she'd been the only person who'd been able to get close enough to inject Ted and prevent a nuclear blast. Remembers the radiation pulsating off him had been enough to melt skin from bones. So she understands why her dad's asking; it's an absolute miracle Nathan's standing in front of them without some much as a scratch.
Her biological father ignores her dad, instead looks to Peter still staring with wonder, confusion, joy, and something else – she can't quite decipher. "Peter? Do you remember?"
Peter shakes his head slowly, sadly, looks like a little boy lost. "I must've blacked out." Brushes weary hands over equally weary eyes. "I can't – I can't see – I can't remember."
The same distress marring Peter's features the night before clouds his expression again but Nathan's there this time, figuratively tending his wounds. "That's okay." He stares long and hard at his younger brother, takes his time before responding. "I dropped him. When I thought he was high enough, I dropped him then flew off." His gaze flits to Claire before landing once again on Peter. "I'm sorry. I had to try –"
Peter looks up, eyes shining with love. "No, you did the right thing." She knows he's thinking of Heidi and his nephews and it's just like him, her hero in shining armour.
They stand awkwardly in the foyer, the Bennets and the Petrellis. Claire's hands stay by her sides, she can't bring herself to even look at Nathan and she's disgusted with herself for it. If she has to be honest – and she really doesn't want to be – Nathan's usurped her place by Peter's side and it's awful really to be thinking that. The man had been willing to give up his life to save both her and Peter a lifetime of regret and she's worrying about her place by her uncle's side?
"Have we met before?" Her dad asks in the sudden stillness, squints hard.
Nathan's expression darkens; she thinks she senses confusion but isn't sure. His response however is crisp and decisive. "No. Have we?"
Peter frowns, looks from Claire to Nathan to her dad then back to her and she shrugs. Before a question can escape her lips her dad's smirking and it's an oddly ugly expression. "You're going to have to come up with new material. Your illusion's perfect, but your acting isn't. Plus you didn't do a complete background check. You need to work on that."
Claire blinks in the afternoon sunshine and doesn't know what to think. Looks with wide, imploring eyes to the only dad she's ever known. "Dad? What's going on?"
Her dad stands, hands on hips. Glares at her biological father. "This man – this person – isn't Nathan."
If she had enough breath left in her she would've gasped, but Claire just stares in slack-jawed disbelief while somehow knowing in the pit of her stomach the truth. Her gaze swerves to Peter's and his expression mirrors hers, all confusion and uncertainty. "What are you talking about?" His eyes are the ones imploring now, begging and pleading for mercy from cruel vagaries of the world, the latest in a long line. "Nathan, what's he talking about?"
"Nothing." Nathan's eyes are dark and angry now, turbulent waves in a sweeping storm. "I have no idea what he's talking about."
Her dad strides towards Nathan – or maybe it's not Nathan, Claire doesn't really know what to think – comes at him with full force. "This person isn't Nathan. If you don't believe me," he addresses Peter now. "Ask him something. Something private."
Peter's backing away from her dad's conviction but primes himself to ask. But before he can, Nathan – or not – sneers, then somehow shimmers out of focus. When it clears they see a tall, brunette woman in a Catholic schoolgirl-style skirt, knee high boots, an ugly, sadistic smile on her face. She would have been attractive if not almost having succeeded in hoodwinking them. "What tipped you off?" She lowers her eyes, gazes through long lashes. "I'm curious. For research purposes you know."
If the woman thinks her dad's willing to indulge in a normal conversation she's dead wrong. He pulls out his silver gun, aims it unerringly at her. But then Peter's there and with an angry wave of his hand he's flung her clean across the cavernous foyer, pins her against the far wall. He's finally using his powers again and his eyes aren't tormented now but Claire doesn't like what she sees, they're spitting fire and fury; the very picture of death and destruction boiling through still broken veins. "What have you done with Nathan?" He's shouting and it's more like a roar, deep and inhuman and it frightens her with its intensity. Reminds her of his self-destruction in the bathroom the night before, the desperation and loss too much for one gentle soul to bear.
"Nothing." The woman appears genuinely scared and Claire can't blame her, believes Peter is actually capable of killing her with one casual flick of the wrist in that horrific instant. "I didn't do anything to him."
"Liar. Tell me!"
"That's enough." Nothing short of family could have stopped him, so it's lucky for the woman that Angela Petrelli storms in, eyes cool and frozen as ice. "That's enough, all of you." She glares at Peter, everything softening as she takes him in. "Peter, let her go. She's only doing what's been asked of her. And you –" She steps unflinchingly into the line of fire. "Noah Bennet. You can put your gun away. You won't need that here."
It seems for a long, aching moment that no one's going to obey her slim but stern presence, but eventually Peter steals a glance at her dad who nods back imperceptibly. The next instant the woman drops to the floor, cries as her hands and knees make contact painfully. Claire winces as she thuds heavily but no one else bats an eye. It reminds her anew how crazy her life's become.
Five minutes later they all sit in awkward formality around Angela's rather grand dining table, chairs being scraped across wooden floors making it creak loudly in the silence. Angela's sent the woman upstairs to recover and more important to stay out of their way and Peter sneered angrily at that, looked at his mother with something akin to disgust. Claire caught the older woman's face and knows Angela saw the look but can't spare enough pity for someone who'd been willing to supervise the destruction of millions of lives.
To describe the air as hostile would have been an understatement so Claire restrains from doing so, even in her own head.
It's Angela who breaks the cold silence, pierces the film of resentment like an icepick. "Peter, I'm so glad you're safe." She moves to cover his hands but he slithers them away, torment and anger fuelling his words.
"You!" He sneers and the expression's so ugly Claire almost has to tear her eyes away. "You don't get to be glad. Nathan's gone and you're – you're asking that woman –" He can't even say it; the truth leaves him spluttering with fury and so it's lucky her dad picks up the torch. His gun still gleams brightly from the table, forms a strange yet dangerous centrepiece to their discussion.
"Mrs Petrelli, I take it you've asked Candice to – fill in – while Nathan's missing?"
The older woman nods, and to be fair to her biological grandmother Claire sees hints of sorrow and grief in her eyes. But not enough, not enough for a son who'd been willing to sacrifice everything for those he truly loved. "Nathan won the election. He's a Congressman now." Swallows a few times and is about to continue when a shadow enters the room, strong and silent. "Ah, an old friend's come to join us."
Angela looks at Claire and so she turns, sees the tall Haitian man framing the doorway. His eyes are as deep and mysterious as always and there's nothing in that expression that gives away anything of the person inside. She glances at Peter; an instinct as natural to her as breathing. Wonders whether the Haitian's presence will dampen any of Peter's abilities or the anger that seems to go with them, something the Haitian man had told her of his abilities on their trip out of Texas.
Peter returns her gaze, seems to be reading her expression. Then she remembers he actually can read her thoughts and knows when their eyes meet in the stillness she's let another truth slip through her mind into Peter's. Why is he always there, inside her?
He blinks rapidly; the others are murmuring like they're talking but Claire can't hear them, it's like her ears are muffled by something and all she can see and hear and feel is the beating of her heart. Then there's a caress, warm and gentle inside her brain and all over her insides before it cautiously withdraws.
It's Peter, snaking around inside her. Knows it like the truth of her birth. Her eyes widen even more as she grasps it and they just stare mutely at each other. Claire's never felt closer to anyone in her life than she is to Peter right now and she never wants him to leave.
Before she can tell him – ask, plead with him not to leave – a cavern opens up and a dreadful emptiness washes over her. She knows then that he's left; feels oddly bereft but then he's speaking and he's back to being angry, tormented. It's like something's clamped off her connection to Peter and she instinctively looks at the Haitian who's moving ever closer to the table. Peter's gaze jerks in that direction too, eyes flashing with fury.
Stands up suddenly, making the whole table shake with his rage. "Is he why I can't read your mind right now mom? You need him to keep more secrets from me?"
"Peter." She exclaims and Claire has to admit she does sound genuinely hurt. Not that Peter doesn't have a point and she doesn't know why she's even feeling sorry for her grandmother. But he's so full of spit and rage and fury it's hard not to back away or be genuinely frightened at its blunt force.
Claire doesn't say anything; merely lays a hand softly on his. The effect is electric and almost instantaneous and if she'd been in a calmer frame of mind it would've seized her in wonder. That she can have this effect on him gives her a cloak of serenity that's priceless, especially in these tepid moments of grief.
Irrationality seems to fly from him; he's back to being bent, grieving for a brother he may have lost forever. "Why mom?" He sinks back into the chair, appears so tiny all of a sudden it's all Claire can do to not run into his arms. "Why?"
It's not clear what exactly he's asking but Angela responds anyway. "I did it for the world Peter." She answers just as tearfully and Claire's glad and relieved to see it, relieved to see that her grandmother has real feelings after all and isn't the monster she seems to be. Not quite. "These are the choices we need to make to save the world. Sometimes hard decisions need to be made. It would've united the world."
"You would've let me explode. Kill millions of people. And for what?" Claire and her dad are looking as this family drama – no tragedy's – unfolding, mere witnesses in the disintegration of a loving relationship. Every moment spent in Angela's presence sees her relationship with her son diminish.
"You would've survived." All of a sudden Angela's thin veneer of control's cracking; Claire glimpses for only the second time the real person underneath, loving mother to her determined, courageous sons. "Thanks to Claire, you would've survived."
"But as what? A murderer?"
Angela can't respond anymore and even Claire realises there's no answer to his questions. If she does know her grandmother – and she doesn't really, but she senses anyway – she did what she thought was right. And like every other person with Petrelli blood flowing through their veins, she was stubborn and determined enough to see it through to the bitter end.
Evidently her dad also thinks this isn't getting them anywhere; he carefully directs the conversation back to finding Nathan. "Mrs Petrelli, the reason why we came here –" He steals a glance at Peter, but he's not in any emotional state to respond. "Peter and Claire think – they know – Nathan's still alive."
Something like hope dawns on the older woman's face, light and open. "Peter?" He refuses to even meet her gaze so it lands instead on Claire; she timidly meets Angela's eyes. "Claire? Is it true?" Claire nods wordlessly, suspects emotion will play havoc with her voice if she tries using it.
"We have the tracking system."
"You mean –"
"Yes." Her dad nods meaningfully and Claire senses she's only catching half of this conversation. "But it's … it's down at the moment. It'll take time to get it working again. Time your son may not have."
Angela's snap shut; when they open again her gaze's returned to crystalline, cold. "What do you need?"
"Anything you've got."
She stills, and the silence's so drawn out even Peter brings his gaze up to rest on her.
Her response is something that's simple, but effective. Brings them to their feet, their hearts in their throats. "You'll have it. Just bring my son back."
Author's Note: Sorry about the slower updating, real life's catching up with me. Also a note about my other fic "Salvation", I haven't stopped updating it yet. I want to finish this one off before continuing (and finishing it). Thanks for your patience!